


Wearing Thin

by lifelesslyndsey



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, allusions of incest, also porn, graphic depictions of mutilation and violence not entierly uncanon to Supernatural, harry has horns, like woah porn, luna and castiel have a staring contest so there is that., no actual incest, there are dementors, they eat a lot of candy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/lifelesslyndsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel would never deny that his biggest sin was pride.  Asking for help? Not his favorite way to spend the day. Asking the Winchester? His own personal Hell. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately he means that more literally than you might think. </p><p>Or, where Gabriel finds hell in a Dementors mouth, and salvation in the Boy Who Lived and lived and lived so much he could give a Winchester a run for their money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was wrote years ago for a Supernatural Crossover Big Bang. I forgot about it until recently. Decided to clean it up a tiny bit and re-post it here.
> 
> I wrote it way before Daniel Radcliff was cast to play the part in the book-turned-movie Horns, which makes me grin. I might have to make new art from the movie promos. 
> 
> Beta'd by missusmonsterwrites and myself. So...sorry. She did a great job, I changed a lot of stuff. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> scene and POV are seperated by **** but that's all the warning you get, besides some pretty obvious context clues.

 

 

 

“Word on the street is you know you're way around a celestial stethoscope, brother mine,” Gabriel said, appearing on the shoddy formica table of the Winchesters latest shitty retro-chic motel room. To his delight, this particular one was done in varying shades of lime chiffon, with a headboard decorated in tacky freeze-dried sea urchins that died somewhere in the 1970's, along with the motel owners hopes and dreams. “So, what do you say? Bust out the magic-touch on me,broseph.”

 

Castiel frowned, and Dean sighed.  “He's asking if he can turn his head and cough for you, Dr. Cas.”

 

Looking thoroughly more bewildered, Castiel's frown deepened. “I am not on the level of healing that Raphael fell from, but if you are unwell, it is likely I can sense it in your grace.”

 

“It's all I ask,” Gabriel replied  breezily, with a snap of his wicked fingers. The sudden sight of Castiel in a long white coat was oddly fitting with his solemn expression, and Gabriel always liked the breeze hospital gowns offered, even if he hadn’t intended to be wearing one. “Give it to me straight, Doc. It's cancer, isn't it?” He said, with mock horror. He slapped on a horrible southern accent and covered his mouth with his hands, dramatically. “Oh Lordy, I'm too young to die!”

 

Burning him with an intensely disapproving look, Castiel pressed his palm to Gabriel's chest. Suddenly, he hissed, hand falling to his side as if Gabriel had burnt him.

 

Gabriel figured that wasn't a good sign.

 

“Not cancer then?” Gabriel asked, but the humor fell flat as Castiel stared at him, wide eyed with obvious worry. “Cas? Castiel? Seriously bro, you're freaking me out.”

 

“You're vessel,” Castiel said, staring at the Gabriel with grave eyes. “It's rotting.”

 

Gabriel blinked, blowing out a gusty breath as the enormity of the situation settled in on him. He looked up at the three faces before him, Winchesters and Castiel a like, each with their own expression of concerned intrigue. “Well, fuck.”

 

And then, very much like the girl Dean would later call him, he passed out.

 

When at last he woke, he was peering upward at three mismatched faces, each washed with there own level of curious worry. “Huh,” he said, blinking the lingering edges of blackness from his vision. “That was weird.”

 

“You passed out,” Dean announced, displaying in Gabriel's opinion, a lackluster deduction of the obvious. He might as well have announced that the sky was blue, or that Winchestes were like cockroaches - apocaproof. He'd yet to try the chop-off-the-head-live-ten-days thing, but it was on the list. “Freaking Angel, man. Angels don't pass out.”

 

“I didn't pass out,” he grumbled, rising to his feet. “My vessel did. I was conscious for your entire collective freak out. Your concern, it touches me deeply, it really does. It touches me so deeply it borders on inappropriate.  I feel a little dirty. Violated, even. You should all be ashamed of yourse--”

 

“Gabriel, this is serious,” Castiel cut in, his tone low. “If your vessel diminishes much further, you will be forced---”

 

“To vacate the premises? Yeah, I get that, I do. Believe me bro, I'm not exactly homeward bound,” he interrupted, scratching the back of his neck. “No one wants to move back in with their parents at my age. I imagine I'd be moving back into the...basement.”

 

Sam continued to frown, deep lines etching across his forehead. “I don't get it. I mean, you built your vessel didn't you?”

 

 

“I cut the cloth straight out of the fabric of time, Sammy boy,” Gabriel breathed, closing his eyes. This was serious, whether he wished to admit it or not. Which he didn't, really, because serious was just not his business. “From the fabric of time, and space, and the very universe. From the dust, from the ash, from the---”

 

“Blood of a true vessel,” Castiel intoned, eying Gabriel as if he expected him to deny it. Which, in all honesty wouldn't have been unlike him but as he had come to Castiel for help he felt inclined to a modicum of honesty. Just a modicum though, he had his appearances to upkeep, and all that.

 

So he just shrugged and toyed with the hem of his accidental hospital gown. “Just a drop,” he confirmed. “From my first vessel. Without it, my grace would have rejected my home-cooked version like a bad kidney.”

 

“Then this problem is easily fixed,” Castiel said, relief coloring his otherwise dry voice. “Blood of the vessel will heal you.”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, drawing out the word and fidgeting suddenly. “Easy-peasey” Easy like licking one's own elbow, at any rate. It could probably be done, but it would take forever and there would be a lot of arm twisting, pain, and no one would really have any fun.

 

“So you find that dude's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great---”

 

“Dean,” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. “Seriously. Grow up.”

 

“Bitch. Great grand kid,” Dean continued, and finished, giving Sam a dirty look. “Give em' a paper-cut and lick em. Bam. In and out, done.”

 

“Yep,” Gabriel agreed, popping the 'p'. He looked up at the ceiling, awkward and self-conscious as they stared upon him. The hospital gown wasn't really doing much to bolster his pride.“In and out. Just like that. Well, it would be that easy if we were talking about your sex life, Deano, but we're not.”

 

“Gabriel,” Castiel cut with sudden clarity “Where is your Vessel?”

 

“I don't know, alright!” He blurted  abruptly, throwing up his hands. He ignored the way the ceiling cracked above him, and seriously hoped no one else noticed. It was just a little crack. Seriously, it could have totally been there before. That had been happening more and more lately. He sat on his hands quickly, and frowned.

 

 Honestly, it wasn't like he'd bothered to tag the little beast. He hadn't expected this to happen. No one told him to get the one-hundred-thousand miles or one-hundred-thousand years warranty when he made his skin-puppet. He didn't know it would require maintenance, hell, it had never been done before. “Hadn't really thought I'd need to keep track.”

 

“Can't you just … I don't know, zone in on your vessel? Aren't you like... connected?” Dean asked, waving his hand as if it solved everything.

 

He huffed, leveling Dean with a glare. “They don't come micro-chipped Winchester; they're not poodles. Don't you think Michael would have taken you out for a test drive early on if he had your shit on low-jack? It doesn't work like that. Even without Castiel's logo seared into your insides, it isn't as simple as wanting to find your vessel. Firstly, I need a name.”

“Just a name?” Dean pushed, brow scrunched. “Seriously?”

 

“There's a lot of power in a name,” Sam said, considering. He had his thinking-face on which never boded well for any one. There was thinking, and then there was alarmingly over-thinking, and Sam seemed to make up for the rest of his families, landing him in the latter category. “Demons and Angels keep their real names hidden. Even God; no one knows his real,name. You can do a lot with a name. I mean, Dad hunted Azazel for years with no luck, but as soon as he knew his name.....”

 

“But it's written down somewhere, right?” Dean asked, turning to look at Gabriel. “They keep this shit on record? Cas could get them, maybe? You know, pop into the Angelic Department of Vital Records?”

 

“There is no reason for me to inquire as to where Gabriel's vessel is without rousing suspicion. Given his history, the name of his current vessel is most likely kept under watch, should anyone inquire,” Castiel explained, a small frown forming on his face. “It is possible I could request the help of one of my more trusted brothers to create a diversion while I ...investigate but---”

 

“As much as it pleases me to see you honestly considering celestial B and E, and it really really does, it wouldn't do much good,” Gabriel said with a huff. “I destroyed my book of Names.”

 

“Book of Names,” Sam repeated, bewildered. “Like a...you mean... Why would you even do that?” 

 

Dean rolled his eyes and Gabriel smirked. Destruction of literature, celestial, proverbial, or otherwise, had never failed to make Sam twitch. Then again, he did so enjoy making Winchesters twitch.

 

“Don't you even get it?” He asked, snapping his fingers again. His words faltered on his tongue when he suddenly found himself wearing not his expected pair of jeans, but a fluffy yellow bathrobe. Hiding his surprise and alarm at the obvious glitch in his grace, he pressed on. 

 

“Why do you think I wouldn't just go hop on in my vessel in the first place. I don't want that. I want my body to be my own; I want to own it. I don't want to constantly wonder if what I do to it could be considered a violation. And believe you me, what I do with this body is a whole lotta' violation. I want to be my own man. 

 

I destroyed that book without a blink because I didn't want a friggin' list of warm bodies. I ain't saying there is anything wrong with finding a home in a truly devout man, Castiel, who was at peace with it” he added, for his brothers benefit. Gabriel knew that Jimmy was dead, and that Castiel felt it a failure on his part. “You did right by Jimmy, and now the skin you wear is your own. I'm just saying it wasn't my way. I would have never been able to escape in my destined vessel.”

 

“So instead you built one, and used the blood of your true vessel to seal the deal?” Dean watched him from the motel bed, propped up against the garish, sea-shell headboard. 

 

“My first vessel. That probably has some sort of significance. The blood was just like dotting my i's and crossing my t's,” Gabriel conceded. “It was enough to get me in the door, but not enough to get me found so to speak. I destroyed the book so they could never find my vessel either; so he couldn't be used against me. Being near your vessel in incorporeal form is like being drugged. You want it, badly, and you can feel it. If enough damage was done to this form, and I was in close enough vicinity to my vessel? I'd couldn't stop myself from begging entrance. The Angels would use that against me. But as far as Heaven is concerned, I no longer have a destined vessel.”

 

“Well,” Sam said, leaning against the wood-paneled wall, his expression thoughtful. “If you took the blood to build your people-suit, it should still be there, right? Or is your vessel failing because your Grace finally burnt it out?”

 

Gabriel blinked, reeling a bit at the cute little Boy King. Perhaps that big over-thinking brain has a purpose. “That’s actually...huh. I hadn't thought of that, but yeah, that’s very likely what's happening. I've been in this skin for thousands of years, with just a drop of the blood of the body. Huh. Good job, Littlest Winchester. Have a cookie,” he snapped his fingers, and found himself holding not a cookie, but a cookbook. Not what he was going for....He blinked, and ignored it, while Sam set it on the table in obvious confusion.

 

“So it's gone?” Dean asked, pushing up against the headboard. “No blood of the body left or whatever?”

 

“No,” Castiel cut in. “Some would linger for him to hold this form.”

 

“So,” Dean said slowly, as if he expected them to catch on to his train of thought with one single word. “ Can't you link with that? I mean, can't you use that blood to find him? They're are rituals and shit that do that. Blood's just as powerful as a name.”

 

“I could look,” Castiel offered, turning to look at Gabriel.

 

“Anything to get your hands on me, eh ”he commented with a wicked grin. “Well, I hear Dad's turning a blind eye on incest these days, but I didn't realize it was contagious,” he laughed. The Winchesters spluttered, choking in tandem. He snickered, grinning, but it didn't reach his eyes as he steeled himself for the invasion. “Go easy on me, Cas. It's gonna be way in there, deep, deep, deep down. It's been years, and it wasn't much to begin with.”

 

“Then I suggest you relax,” Castiel said, sinking his hand into Gabriel's chest without any more hesitance then the first time. Gabriel seized as Castiel's grace probed at his every inch, leaving him with a decidedly naked and unpleasant feeling. He was bared to his brother, exposed in the most deepest of ways. Bit like being naked at Christmas dinner.

 

He hissed when at last Castiel extricated himself, flexing his hand as if he had a cramp.“It is not enough,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “As I expected, it is far to saturated by Gabriel's grace to be recognizable in any cognizant standard. It is no longer a separate entity. You've merged with your vessel like I did after Jimmy's death. It is truly your own, as much as Dean or Sam owns their skin.”

 

He looked inward, than, and could hardly recognize the blood of his vessel from the rest of his body. It was just a faint inward glow soaked in grace, that he would not have noticed had Castiel not made mention. It had not always been; when he was new, it had shone brightly beside his grace, a light all it's own. “My grace!” He said abruptly, jerking upright. “I can't use the blood in me to track him , but Cas can use the grace in the vessle.”

 

“That’s how it works?” Dean asked, frowning. “I don't know how I feel about carting around a bit Mikey with me. And seriously, no offense Sammy, but you've had enough demon in you. I'd hate to see what a bit of Lucifer could do.”

 

“No it does not work like that,” Castiel growled. “It is said that grace must be given as freely to the vessel as the vessel gives himself. It is not done lightly; Anael gave Joan of Arc one drop of grace to guide her. Barachal gave even less to Michelangelo, to paint the heavens in the Sistine Chapel.. Azazel gifted Death with so much grace, Reapers were born from the ash of man, to ease his burden. Gabriel, what did you do?”

 

“I didn't do it lightly, if that's what you're saying. He gave me freedom,] Castiel, without falling. And in return, I gave him a gift,” Gabriel bristled, blanching. “One mote of grace. I don't even know what it did; like I said, I didn't stick around to watch.”

 

“So, what? Gabriel granted some dudes wish way back in the day? Granted a miracle, something?” Dean put in, shaking his head.

 

Castiel huffed, pinning Dean with a look of disapproval. “We are not jinn, Dean. We do not grant wishes. Every bit of grace ever given has been given with intent. What Gabriel did...the repercussions can not be calculated. Wild grace, given without direction, will pick its path as it wishes.”

 

Sam made a discouraging noise, fingers tapping against the kitchenette counter. “You're talking about it like it's a living thing. Like it can think on it's own.”

 

“No,” Castiel amended. “It is not living, per se. But it will think. And it will think as Gabriel does. It will do as Gabriel would. It will act in place of Gabriel without any form of conscious or mediation.”

 

“A mini, mindless Gabriel wish-ball?” Dean asked, jerking upright on the mattress. “Oh fuck, that’s probably how we ended up with conjoined-twins or like...those freakishly tiny dogs.”

 

“It's nothing to laugh at, Dean,” Castiel admonished. “His grace was given free reign to do as it pleased, most likely only guided by the wishes of the vessel, and even more likely, passed down through the bloodline.”

 

“It could have laid dormant for years,” Gabriel murmured, in wonder. “There is no telling where it would have manifested, or when, rather. There's just no way to tell. It could have done anything.”

 

“You don't seem near as upset about this as Castiel does,” Sam noted, gesturing to the stoney-faced Castiel. “I mean, it's a bad thing, isn't it?”

 

“Maybe,” Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe not though. Maybe it gave some dude the strength to save a flaming bus full of orphans. Maybe someone used it to build Stonehenge or the Pyramids. Maybe it was used to create the Polio vaccine,” He argued. “It couldn't be used for anything bad. It's grace; it's decidedly celestial and meant to do the bidding of God himself. Whatever it did, it was a miracle.”

 

“A Gabriel-colored miracle,” Dean rebutted. “The Angel who isn't.”

 

“Not back then,” Castiel argued, for the sake of his brother. Gabriel grinned at him, unperturbed by the heated scowl he earned in return. Castiel only had seven expressions and most of them involved a scowl, so for all he knew that one was an expression of love. “Gabriel was and is, the messenger of God, the angel of Judgment. He carried the word of our Father without fault, even while being a pagan demi-god. His grace would not defy our Father's wishes. Although, Father has always been....lenient, with Gabriel.”

 

“Daddy's favorite,” Gabriel cooed. “Although, you're giving me a run for my money on the title Cassy.”

 

“Can you track your Grace?” Sam asked, cutting back to the heart of the subject. “I mean, can it be like...like Angel GPS?”

 

“I can't,” Gabriel considered. “But Cas can. That was one reason I destroyed the book. To protect my vessel from being used to find me. It isn't a stretch to say that I couldn't be used to find him. Castiel just has to tap into my grace with his and...push. It's the same way Angels can always find their brothers. We're wired to a...mainframe, I guess you can say. I've been off the grid for a long time, but a relative distance, whatever grace my vessel has floatin' around in him can be tracked.”

 

“I cannot verify that I have the...capacity to do that,” Castiel replied, a little rueful. “While Father saw fit to return me to my original state, and then some, I am no archangel.”

 

“I doubt you can't do it,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Start small, work big. Hemisphere, continent, region, state. So what do you say, bro? Help a guy out?”

 

“I will help you Gabriel,” Castiel confirmed, his voice solemn and sure. Gabriel kind of wanted to tell him to lighten up, but it was just his way, and Gabriel wasn't interested in changing Cas. Cas, the way he was, had conquered fucking Heaven. He was fine as is, even if he was a little stiff. You'd think averting the apocalypse would loosen a guy up, but not Cas. Gabriel loved him for that.

 

“Now?” Dean asked. “You're going to do it now?”

 

“Now would be best,” Castiel replied. “Gabriel's current vessel will not last, especially under any kind of duress or strain. It would be prudent that we act as swiftly as possible.” He finished with a shrug, awkward and stiff but appropriately timed. The Winchesters must have been teaching him, Gabriel though.

 

“Alright bro, have at it.” He opened his arms wide and his fluffy robe fell open, a light breeze tickling across balls, and he grinned deeply at the Winchesters mutual squeak-groan-shout of alarm as they averted their eyes. “Oh good,idea. Keep your eyes closed kids, this could get messy. Wouldn't want to melt your brains out your ears or anything.”

 

“If you are ready,” Cas said, even as his own cool, fluid grace swarmed Gabriel's. Unlike before, where as Castiel had only looked at Gabriel's grace, this time he felt with his own. It was the embodiment of Cas, Gabriel thought, the perfect representative of that which was Castiel. Even as it wrapped around his own, it had waves, rough but steady, just like Cas. His grace even felt blue, a dark blue like the oceans or the night-sky or his own borrowed eyes. It was deep, with depths unknown and untouched, and Gabriel had always known that Castiel was capable of so much, but to feel it like this seemed like a privilege. Castiel was a credit to their Father, an Angel and Warrior, and Gabriel couldn't help but feel a little awed.

It had been a long time since he'd shared grace with his brethren. Too long, maybe, for him to feel like this.

 

Snapping back to himself, he found Castiel blinking down at him, his standard blank expression looking a little less blank and a little more smug and embarrassed. “You are a credit to our Father as well, Gabriel,” he said quietly, before turning to the Winchester. 

 

“The Gabriel-vessel is on the northern hemisphere. I believe more specifically he is South of us.”

 

“Alright,” Gabriel said, grinning. “Lets go! The sooner I get this shit over with, the better.” Gabriel harangued. He snapped his fingers, focusing on jeans once again and was surprised to find himself in a suit. A freaking suit; this was not what he wanted. Which meant... Oh dear. “Uh Cas, you might want to wait---”

 

The explosion of light was blinding, sending all four occupants of room 9B of the Starfish Motel and Car-wash flying off their feet. Castiel was the first to make right himself, eyes wide.

 

 “Dean...Sam” Castiel stood at the center of the room, eyeing the tangle of Winchester  limbs. “Are you well?”

 

“Sammy?” Dean groaned, reaching out blindly to slap Sam on the chest. The answering groan seemed enough of an answer for the elder Winchester. “Yeah, we're good. What the flying fuck was that?”

 

“Gabriel's grace did not respond well to my manipulations,” Castiel informed him, eyes scanning the Winchesters for signs of injury. They looked no more bruised then usual, and he let it be. “It deflected me.”

 

“...it's protecting me,” Gabriel murmured, eyes narrowed in thought. “That’s why it's not working. It's on overdrive keeping me together, keeping me from burning out my vessel. It's protecting me. From everything, Angelic intrusions included.”

 

“But it was fine when Cas was all up in you,” Dean said, waving his hands at Gabriel's middle. “Why the hell didn't it go into panic room melt-down mode then?”

 

“Non-invasive,” Castiel cut in, frowning at Gabriel. “I was not attempting to do anything but ascertain information. Once I attempted to alter him, including relocation, it rebelled.”

 

“What do you mean your grace isn't working?” Sam asked, back tracking on a point no one else seemed to notice. “You've been snapping your fingers since you got here.”

 

Gabriel had the decency to at least look sheepish. “Well, I have grace. It's going to do something if I ask. It works.”

 

“Snap something up,” Dean had the audacity to order. “I dunno, chocolate. Snickers.”

 

“I believe your Angel already covered the 'we are not genies' thing, Deano,” Gabriel retorted, bristling as all eyes fell upon him. “It works. It just...quit looking at me like that, Cas. I'm fine.”

 

“Then please do as Dean asked,” Castiel replied calmly. “If it is as you say it is, there should be no problem.”

 

“M'not saying it's like anything,” Gabriel murmured. “It's just a little...random.” He closed his eyes and huffed, snapping his fingers and thinking Snickers.

 

What he got instead was Skittles. The bright red package crinkled in his hand. “See, it's not...it's not that off. I mean it's still candy. It's not like it gave me a fucking banana.” His grace wouldn't do that. It loved him.

 

“Huh,” Dean said, plucking the candy from his hand. “Hey, snap up some girls,” he suggested and Gabriel was just off-kilter enough to do it out of reflex.

 

“How about no,” Sam wrapped his hand around Gabriel's wrist. “The skittles were almost chocolate. I'd hate to see what almost constitutes as a girl.”

 

“Bitch,” Dean said, lips wet with fruity, skittle, rainbow drool. “I wanted to see what freaky circus shit he would have came up with.”

 

“Probably like a midget-hooker,” Sam conceded, giving a little grin. “You might want to cut it out on anything complicated Gabriel.”

 

Feeling slightly panicked and weirdly vulnerable, Gabriel smirked. “You ever had sex with a midget? Don't knock that shit till you try it, kiddo's. All the blow-jobs, none of the back pain.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling you've been the midget-hooker in this scenario?” Dean asked, around mouthful of sticky skittle-goo.

 

“You're imagining me having sex as a midget, Dean?” Gabriel grinned. “Wooh-boy, Sammy, you lucky dog. This one's into the kink.” Sam spluttered, cheeks brightening.

 

Castiel glared at him for a moment before pushing them back on topic. “As it would seem that zapping Gabriel to the location is out of the question, we need a new plan. I believe we will need to do this manually.: It was obvious to anyone with half an eyeball that Castiel wasn't making a suggestion.

 

“Manu-what? Oh no. No way Cas,” Dean said, catching on. “No! I'm not carting his ass across the freaking continent.”

 

“It would only be across the country,” Castiel argued. “You could hunt along the way.”

 

“You don't even know where you're headed,” Dean grumbled, but Gabriel could see the fight in him crumbling. “You're flying blind.”

 

“I can follow Gabriel's grace,” Castiel replied easily. “Already I know we should head south-east. As we grow closer, it will become more precise.”

 

“Cas,” Dean whined, but Sam, the little hero he couldn't help but be, was having none of it.

He turned his most pitiful face on Dean and sighed, shoulders dropping.

 

 “I don't know, Dean. Think of all the things Gabriel's done for us. I mean...he did save me,” he finished looking downcast as his fingers fidgeted with the off-white rotary phone on the nightstand between the beds. 

 

He looked entirely too dejected and Gabriel knew there was a reason he liked the kid. No one could play a Winchester like another Winchester. It was probably a good idea to always keep at least two around.

 

“I believe Gabriel has done much in way of earning this favor,” Castiel reminded Dean, jumping on the guilt-flavored band wagon. “It was with his efforts that we defeated Lucifer and sealed the gates. We would not be where we are now if it was not for him.” The remaining bricks of Deans will were blasted away with Castiel's final blow. “And your brother is not wrong, it was Gabriel who saved Sam.” 

 

It was all true, and Gabriel was smug enough to enjoy hearing it. When at last he had joined there raggle-taggle band of free-will gypsies, he'd proven to be an insurmountable weapon against Armageddon. He'd lured his own misguided brother back to the pits with tales of his own rebellion, years of succulent indulgence and the life of a demigod. 

 

Lucifer, as Gabriel predicted, to enthralled by his dark dreams, did not see what was there before him. While Gabriel might have left Heaven, he had never left his Father, and that was what separated him from his brother, from all of his brothers. He had lead his brother to the gates, and Sam had taken them down. While it hurt to see his brothers Second Fall, Gabriel knew that until Lucifer asked forgiveness, there would be no hope. He had even managed, at the last minute, to rip Sam free from Lucifer, as he descended to the pit.

 

And he had done those things for God, and Humanity and Free will. But mostly, he had done them for Cas, because he had asked and he believed Gabriel true enough to not fail them.

 

“Fine!” Dean acceded, eyes flickering to his brother, who was staring down at the ground. “Fine. Yes. Whatever. But seriously, you don't use your fucked up angel-button to whammy me for nothing,” he warned. “I don't want you to try and finger-snap me bald and I end up headless.”

 

He hadn't meant to laugh, but it had escaped anyway. “Oh get Rhonda Hurley's pretty pink panties out of your crack. I won't whammy you, Winchester. Double-dog, pinky-swear promise. ”

 

“Rhonda Hurley?” Sam  looked up, turning to look at Dean. “Wasn't that the cute, chubby red headed chick we went to school with? In that town with the water spirits, back in like my freshman year? Yeah, I was like fifteen or something. Man, I remember you practically begged---”

 

“No, I don't remember that,” Dean cut him off. “I don't know what he's talking about. Shut up, Sam.”

 

“I'm pretty sure---”

 

“No, Sam,” Dean said a little more stiffly. “Shut up. Shut up ”

 

“So I'm traveling via Winchester,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. “Lovely. When do we leave?”

 

*

 

Driving in cars was not Gabriel's most ideal form of transportation. The Winchesters beloved Impala might have been in great shape, tended lovingly by Dean, but no matter how well maintained, cars built in the sixties were not made for luxury. He felt stifled, shoved into the back seat beside Castiel, who endured it with his usual stoic silence.

 

'Relax'

 

The whisper in his mind was easily recognizable as Castiel, not a sound, but a feeling. He bristled at the gentle command, and nearly replied before halting himself violently. He wasn't sure what opening his mind to Castiel would do; there were things in there he'd rather his brother not see. Castiel knew Gabriel had done things no Angle should be capable of, but seeing was different. 

 

“It's not that easy,” he groused. “My wings itch.”

 

“What?” Sam said, inviting himself into the conversation as he spun in his seat. “You can feel them in this body? I thought they didn't actually have a corporeal form.”

 

“Oh they do,” Gabriel leaned  back against the cool leather. He squirmed, the pressure of the seats easing the tension between his shoulder blades. “They just don't look like wings. They look like...”

 

“Ozone,” Castiel offered. “Atmosphere. Like capturing lightning in a bottle. Unlike most Angels, Gabriel cannot keep his on another plane of existence. His must be contained within him. While we were on the run, I was forced to do the same. It is an incredibly uncomfortable sensation.”

 

“Like that,” Gabriel agreed. “And my wings aren't average. I don't have two like Cas; he's a solider Angel. I have six hundred. And they are currently being shoved in a very small space. You think your legs feel cramped in a car, Sammy-boy, you have no idea.”

 

“Can...can you let them out, to like breath or whatever? Take a stretcher?” Dean asked, cutting off a neon orange Prius whose driver flipped him off through his rear-view mirror.

 

“Might as well shove a billboard up my ass that says 'GABRIEL IS HERE'” he replied with a snort. “Haven't let my bad boys out in a really long time. I'm pretty sure doing it now would send this sexy little human-suit through the shredder.” He hunched forward, elbows propped on his knees, rolling his shoulders awkwardly.

 

“Your grace will keep you intact,” Castiel assured him, pressing his grace-warmed palm between Gabriel's shoulder blades. The relief was instantaneous, and Gabriel couldn't help but feel small for needing it. He hadn't needed anything from anyone in a very long time. He resented it, and the only comfort he could find was that help from Castiel would come with few strings.

 

'But for how long?' Gabriel whispered silently though the spot where there grace met and tangled. The connection was fragile; whispering in his mind. Castiel did not push to see more.  'It's wearing thin.'

 

'We'll find him.” Castiels’ grace soothed Gabriel's frantic nerves like a rush of cool water. 'Sleep'. He  had pressed his finger to Gabriel's forehead before he could even mutter a futile protest.

 

Gabriel had decided, rather quickly, that he did not enjoy dreaming. Oh sure, he enjoyed other people's dreams; they offered a plethora of subconscious delight to be messed with. However, paying witness to his own subconscious was hardly fun, especially as it seemed he had no control over his dream.

 

It was dark where ever he was, an alley perhaps, though the scenery seemed to change as dreams are wont to do; fluid as water, shifting and reflecting. He was smoke himself, he'd noticed, neither here nor there. He really did not feel it necessary to examine that even in his own dream he was but a wisp between realities. It said too much about him.

 

Something cold was creeping in on him, bringing with it a curtain of darkness that could not seen, only felt. His heart beat too fast, frigid puffs of air escaping  his lips with every panicked breath. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones.  He could feel it in his grace, tugging at the frayed, damaged edges. Something was really wrong.

 

This wasn't a dream.

 

This was a nightmare.

 

He felt breathless, his hand clutching at the soft skin of his throat where words would not form. It ached, his grace; everything ached. A flood of horror drowned him; abandonment, despair, lonesomeness; a vast sea of loneliness was all he felt, like every bad thing he'd ever known had found him all at once. It was a dream, he told himself as his wings fluttered inside him, growing hot in his chest. Just a dream. Just a dream. Humans did it all the time; nightly even.

 

The curtains of darkness did not recede, even as Gabriel begged himself to wake. From their black hoods, skeleton faces grew, hidden in the depths of shadow, unseen by even Gabriel. But he could feel their eyes upon him, gaping black holes that opened up into that Gabriel thought felt suspiciously like Purgatory.

 

The unseen gaze was locked on him, and he stumbled backwards, pain exploding in him as his back hit the ground. A pillow of dark feathers broke his fall as his wings escaped him, spreading out for miles in his dream world, shimmering the air with gold light. Gabriel gasped, pushing at the edges of his mind, struggling to wake as the Reaper-like shadow of ache turned to him, boney hand outstretched like a claw, inching it's way towards Gabriel's throat.

 

His wings hardened, tensing and fluttering as he scrambled back, as more came forth, more hollow shadows with outstretched hands, grabbing at him. 'Wake up', he begged himself. 'Wake up, wake up, wake the fuck up. Castiel, get me out of here! CASTIEL!'.

 

He watched in horror as they advanced, to caught in his own sea of despair to do anything for it, cowering against his endless wings as he was forced to recall a millennium of lonely torture.

 

And then, as Moses parted the red sea, something parted the shadows, a beam of brilliant shimmering light. It cut through the shadow Reapers with ease, slashing them to crumbling pieces.   Gabriel couldn’t see him, the light-bringer, but he could feel the pulse of his life, his essence, as he took apart the other shadow Reapers. 

 

What he could see left Gabriel gasping; his young hero wielded a familiar, curved blade of the purest white, made of metal as old as time, shining with the light of God himself.

 

The Messengers scythe. His scythe, given to him by God himself. Gabriel hadn’t seen it in ages. A Millennia, even. 

 

It sliced through the shadowed Reapers with the ease it was meant to, and what ones had not met their end at the edge of the blade, scattered. For a moment, the man seemed to look down at him, green gaze cutting through the fluidity of the dream-veil, as if he could almost, almost see Gabriel. In response, Gabriel looked up, pressed out to the edges of the dream where the man stood, dark but tangible, all his finer details lost to the shadows....and then Gabriel woke.

 

****

 

“Merlin's hairy ball-sack, what the bloody fuck was that!?” Draco barked, from behind him.

 

“No time! Don't let them get away!” Harry bellowed, sinking his blade into the shadowy torso of the nearest Dementor. It let loose a scream that shook the ground as he ripped it back like a fishhook, tearing through it's wispy flesh.

 

Luna was already whispering her own spell, casting out tiny rays of silver, each one weaving to make a net of gleaming light. A single Dementor found himself snared in it, and Luna reeled the spell-net back sharply, slicing the Dementor to bits as each silver-strand cut through it's body. It fell to pieces on the ground, melting into bubbling, oozing puddles of tar.

 

“Left, Harry! Six o'clock, it's getting away!” Draco called out, his hand already reaching for the especially spelled firearm at his waist.

 

Harry followed Draco's shouted directions, reaching up as he ran to tear the scythe from the staff. Spinning himself, to gain the right amount of leverage, he threw the curved blade with long-learned skill, watching it spin in the darkness like a boomerang before catching the fleeing Dementor at the throat. It's hollowed head fell with a dull thunk, body crumpling and oozing beside it, as the blade swung back. He snatched it from the air, slipping it back in place with ease.

 

“How many left!?” He called out to Luna as he swung the scythe back again, slashing it thought he nearest Dementor who stumbled and screamed.

 

“One in sight, four fleeing!” Luna called back, and Harry watched as she snapped a single strand of silver-light like a whip the Dementor, slicing it in half vertically, from it's skull down. It's following screech was an ear-splitting, gut-wrenching terror, and Draco grinned with malicious glee as it fell to the ground.

 

“It's gotta be now! They won't stay down much longer!” Harry bellowed, tearing the silver and onyx ring off his finger. He tossed it into the air, watching it glint in the faint sun hiding behind the clouds before falling back, slamming against the ground hard enough o make it tremble. The ground quaked, pebbles bouncing along it's rocking surface as the ring began to glow, burning the Earth around it in ripples of charred black.

 

The bubbling black puddles of Dementor ooze hissed and sizzled as mushroom clouds of smoke blossomed up from the tar, only to be sucked down the Earths through the ring's circle, in a whirl of coal-colored smoke. When the last of the smoke had cleared, Harry crouched, watching as the ring gave one more violent quiver before losing its ominous glow. He slid the seemingly harmless ring back onto his finger and turned to his partners.

 

“Luna found the female,” Draco said, conversationally, tucking his gun into the holster at his waist. For someone who had grown up abhoring anything muggle, he had come to love his gun quite dearly. The bullets were of Luna's design, molded with of silver and infused with sunlight. 

 

She'd finished the whole process off with blasting every bullet one with a cheering charm so strong it could make a weeping willow laugh. The combination had proved lethal too Dementors.

 

“Three got away. Want to chase?” Draco asked with an easy grin, flipping his pale hair from his face.

 

“They're long gone by now,” Harry said, something shiny in the near distance catching his Seekers eye. He found himself following the dull light, as golden dust settled on the ground, burning where it landed to a darkened ash. The scythe warmed in his palm, magic humming as it had since he'd found it.

 

Luna caught up to them, pointing a long finger at the burning golden flakes. “Have you any thoughts on the very pretty but also entirely impromptu light show, Harry? I found it rather distracting myself.”

 

“Haven't a bloody fucking clue.” Harry scratched the three-day stubble on his chin. “But whatever it was, it can't be good. Damned Dementors flocked right too it.”

 

“What if it's the Queen?” Draco replied, catching Harry's forearm. “What if...Come on, Potter. Don't give me that bloody look. We don't know a damned thing about Dementors. They might nest. It would explain why they travel in groups. Have you ever seen a lone Dementor?”

 

“No,” Harry admitted. “But whatever that was...it wasn't a Dementor, Queen or what-not, I could feel that much. What I'd really like to know is where the hell it went.” The ground was charred where the light had exploded into a tiny ball of gold, winking out without so much as a sound. Whatever it was, it’s magic would have to be very strong to cancel out the sound of air displacement. 

 

“Perhaps the more pertinent question to ask,” Luna wondered aloud, eyes flickering a luminescent white, “is where it came from.”

 

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “Either way, we haven't the foggiest. Unless you Saw something?”

 

She gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I saw a pair of blue eyes that refused to blink,” she said with a shrug. “I believe it was rather out of context.”

 

“Could you see it?” Draco asked them both, frowning. “All I saw was light. Like a patronus”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said thought. “But it wasn't like a patronus at all. They went for it, hungry little fuckers.”

 

“Maybe it's some kind of Dementor bait,” Draco reasoned, rubbing at the dirt on his cuff. He'd come a long way since Hogwarts; he'd come so far he'd followed Harry to the states. His hair was long, hanging in unkempt waves past his shoulder, and he'd made it a point to pack on a few pounds of muscle after graduation. Innocent though he might have been at the end of the war, without his Malfoy Money, he hadn't had anything to hide behind but his own to fists. 

 

He'd had his fair share of naysayers but he'd done well on his own, surviving, thriving post-war. It had been that much that had drawn Harry to him, that and his inherited knowledge (the same knowledge that had served the Order very well) of all things Dark. 

 

Business partners, they called themselves, but when you spent most your day saving the others arse, it was only inevitable that a bond would be formed. Or forty-seven different life-debts, as Draco liked to say.

 

Luna's story had been much less exciting. She had showed up on Harry's door one morning and announced she'd be leaving with him. At the time, Harry hadn't even known he had anywhere to go.

 

“That would be all well and fine if we'd set bait,” Harry said after a fashion. His head ached; something about the light felt...well, he wasn't sure what it felt like, but it had felt like something. “In actuality, it's rather disturbing that bait might have been set exactly where we happened to be, if it was bait at all. We should pack up, head out.”

 

“You want to pack up before clearing out the rest of this lot?” Draco replied, surprised. He wasn't wrong to be shocked; Harry didn't like to leave strays. He felt Luna's eyes on him and forced back a shudder. He didn't like it when she Looked at him.

 

“They'll be gone by now,” Harry said again with a sigh, slinging the Scythe over his shoulder, and into it's holster.  He scrubbed a hand over his face“Oh bloody buggering fuck,” he grumbled, as his hands caught on a hard protrusion jutting from his forehead. “Every fucking time.”

 

Draco shot him a look and shrugged. “I don't know how you don't notice horns sprouting out of your forehead,” he said reasonably, handing Harry a tergo-cloth. “Here, you're bleeding a bit. Lets get back to the motel and I'll see if I can blast them off yet again.”

 

“Don't act so bloody put upon by it,” Harry groused, focusing his mind on the motel. He appeared into the kitchenette just as Draco did, Luna close behind, their triple pops muffled by his Silencing Charm. “It isn't as if they're popping out of your bloody skull.”

 

“Even so,” Draco argue as he pushed Harry against the counter, eyes narrowed as he inspected the protrusions. They'd been a constant thorn in Harry's side, or rather horns in his head, but still. “It also isn't as if I can leave you to blast them off yourself. Might take your whole bloody head off.”

 

“One time,” Harry allowed himself to be manhandled with nothing more than an eye-roll. “One time, I signed an eyebrow and you'll never let me live it down, will you?.”

“By your own words, Potter, there is no margin for error,” Draco grinned, his teeth as white and perfect now as they were when he was nothing more than a poncy first year.  For all that they lived hard, and fought harder, Draco remained perpetually pretty, the bastard. . “Alright, instead of burning them maybe this time Luna and I can try forcing them back in? I've been reading up on magical reactors; the dark magic might be overwhelmed by the light of both mine and Lovegoods”

 

Luna piped in with her vacant, dreamy voice. “The theory is called Magical Relevancy Displacement; magical fluctuation leveling powers when light or dark magic swells and dispels it's opposite. Very common among the Spellbined Nimblynobs,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper. “They have issues with premature evacuation. Rather embarrassing, that.”

 

“You know, once upon a time I might have laughed had you claimed your magic Light, Draco” Harry commented, deflecting any real answer to the suggestion and ignoring Luna entirely. It was just better that way; you indulge her, and next thing you know, it's three in the morning and your discussing the merits of Wrackspruts in modern education, sipping nettle wine while standing on the ceiling in ladies underpants.

 

Some lessons were just learned the hard way.

 

Draco gave him a look reminiscent of his school-boy sneer, drawing himself up tall and proud “I'll have you know I was magically re-hymenated,” he said with a mock drawl. “I'm pure as the driven snow.”

 

“And I regularly shit Quaffels,” Harry snorted.“Ugh, nevermind, that sounds painful. Hell, what you're suggesting sounds painful. If it hurts half as bad as shitting a quaffle, I'm going to punch you in the throat,” he threatened, as Draco covered the left horn with his palm.

 

“Shite!” He swore, snatching his hand back from Harry’s head. “Bloody sharp! Quit laughing, dammit.”

 

Harry just grinned, running his finger up the length of the right horn, the pad of this thumb pressing gently against the point. They were pointy; pointy and pointless. “Just blast them off, Draco.” It was the only thing that ever worked, though Draco never seemed to desist his endless attempts to find an alternative for Harry's particular affliction.

 

“No,” Draco replied petulantly. “I think Lovegood is onto something with this Magical Displacement Thingy. Brace yourself Potter, it sounds to good to be true, so it’s probably going to hurt. 

 

Harry could feel the magic thrumming in Draco's palm as he pushed with it instead of his actual flesh. Luna laid her hand over the other one, her magic gentle and soothing. The horns shuddered burning the flesh around them in protest as Draco eased them back, forcing them into Harry's skull till he was sure his head would burst from pain alone. His fingers bit into Draco's forearm where he'd grabbed unintentionally, drawing crescent moon bruises to the surface.

 

“I bloody fucking hate you, Malfoy,” Harry growled, knees buckling. “Fuck!” Draco caught him easily, shoving a thigh between Harry's and propping him up. It could have been considered indecent were Harry not in blinding pain, as he was. “You fucking bastard! Is it working?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Luna murmured, her palm finally flat against Harry's forehead. “Little more than an inch to go, Harry.”

 

Harry grabbed Draco's wrist quickly. “Break. Lets...” he panted, eyes clenched in pain. “Lets take a break.”

“No,” Draco said gently, shaking Harry loose. “It will hurt worse if we wait, you know that. Better do it while your adrenalin is still kicking, so.... buck up, Potter, and bite down.”

 

Suddenly Harry found himself with a mouthful of sweaty leather glove, teeth biting down instinctively. The pain was the same, a penetrating burn that felt as if it was melting his skull while filling his head with a pressure so fierce he was sure he would explode. His legs gave out again, seating him fully on Draco's thigh as he grappled for something to hold on to, growling through the searing flame as it lanced through his skull.

 

“There,” Luna said, smoothing a thumb over where the second horn had sprouted. “Not a scar in sight this time.”

 

“I hate you,” Harry said succinctly, to Draco, as he thought it rather impossible to hate Luna for anything. Hating Luna was on the same level as punching hamsters as far as cruelty went in Harry's book. 

 

His skin felt cold, but his core hot, and he knew he was trembling from the pain. Draco hauled him up to his feet dragging him past the tiny Formica table, and dropping him gracelessly into the motel bed.

 

“Drink this,” Draco said, shoving a violent yellow vial into his hand. Harry hated the potion; bottle sunshine that tasted like ass-pudding. “Come now, bottoms up. You should know a thing or two about that.”

 

“Resorting to gay jokes, Draco? I thought you were better than that.” Harry glared at the offending little vial, tipping it against his lips. It slithered down his throat like a worm, settling in his stomach with a hot splosh. He watched Draco and Luna knock their own back, shaking off the taste with a shudder. 

 

“Disgusting.”” Harry slapped the vial onto the bedside table. It shattered and he huffed, repairing it with a snap of his fingers. “I really hate you, Malfoy.”

 

“Well it's that, or go through a little Dementor withdrawal,” Draco replied, giving him an arched look. “Half of what your feeling is the Dementor, so if you could keep your childhood-reminiscent professions of hate to a minimum, that would be lovely. You are such a whiner, Potter, really.”

 

“Says the boy who wore silk school robes.” Harry licked away the vile taste from his mouth, and scowled. He did feel better, and spared a moment to feel guilty for snapping at Draco. Then the moment passed, and he grinned. “You were a pompous little git.”

 

“And you were a mouthy little bugger,” Draco acceded, returning his grin. “It's probably for the best you ruthlessly slaughtered the possibility of our blossoming friendship when it was but a babe. We might have blown up Hogwarts with the things we could have gotten into. You would have been a terrible influence.”

 

“Yeah, me,” Harry snorted. “How many do you think we missed today?”

 

“Three,” Luna said, her expression slightly vacant as she recalled their hunt. She dropped onto the bed beside Harry, blonde hair spilling across his pillow. She snuggled in without so much as a blink, nudging Harry till she was close enough to steal his warmth. He allowed it, tossing an arm over her waist and burying his face into her mess of hair. It was really to bad he was gay, or he might have married her. “We killed their female.”

 

“We don't know that they only keep one,” Harry argued, blindly grabbing at their journal on the nightstand. “There simply isn't enough evidence to found that.”

 

“Come on, Potter,” Draco sighed. It was an argument they'd had, many times over, in fact, though Luna had always proven to remain indifferent. Much to Harry's chagrin, Hermione had sided with Draco. Ron had sided with Harry but not for any factual reasons; he sided with Harry to avoid siding with Malfoy. 

 

“The females are always the most vicious of the lot, and from what I've gathered, they always lead. Those three we lost? They're going to go find another pack to join, one with a female.”

 

“Shit,” Harry said, snapping the journal shut. He rolled up off the bed with a grunt. “You're right. They'd lead us right to it. Bugger.” He looked up at Draco, who was giving him no less than his smuggest grin. Luna giggled from the beside him.

 

“So you admit I'm right, about the female thing?” Draco asked, waving his wand over the room to remove evidence of their being there. “Right?”

 

“No,” Harry said, already pushing open the door. “I will admit that their was only one female in this pack, and a female always leads. But that doesn't discount the possibility that there could be more than one female in a pack. Generally speaking, it's more prudent to have more females than males for breeding.”

 

“We've never seen it,” Draco huffed, his voice raising as he followed Harry outside into the empty parking lot. “Not once! It all leads to a Queen theory! One fertile mother, pumping these buggers out. Females lead, males follow. It makes sense.”

 

“It's just a theory,” Harry waved his hand half-haphazardly, and Draco fought his flinch. Harry wasn't exactly free with his magic, but there had been incidents. It wasn't so much as Harry, as it was Harry's magic, which had always served to be just as mischievous as it's owner. 

 

Harry's complete mastery of wandless magic hadn't helped; without a wand, his magic acted more freely, on thought or emotion instead of command. Draco wasn't inclined to be on the end of one of Harry's inadvertent hexes or charms just because Harry was irritated with him. He was Draco bloody Malfoy, friendship or not, he irritated Harry quite a bit.

 

Without a wand visible, he had no way of knowing whether Harry would cast, accidentally or not. The last time that had happened, he'd had pink hair for three days. It might have been longer, except that Harry had grown tired of his whining, and simply spelled him bald. It hadn't been their best week.

 

Luna slapped Harry's hand in absentminded reprimand, and Draco let loose a sigh of relief.

 

“It's a solid theory,” he groused, dropping into the sidecar of Harry's motorbike. As far as bitch-seats went, the sidecar was preferable then the back of the bike, where Luna sat.

 

“It would be more solid if we found a nest,” Harry shrugged, eyes scanning the horizon as Luna slid onto the bike behind him, spelling herself to the seat with a sticking-charm. He pushed the purple Notice-Me-Not button on the bike, and turned to Luna. “What way did they head?”

 

Luna closed her eyes, opening to reveal the misty blue that came only with Vision. “South-East. They're heading for water.”

 

Harry nodded, nibbling his bottom lip. “The Twins were covering the South-East, last I checked. We might call them.”

 

“I'm sticking to the Queen theory,” Draco said, crossing his arms over his head in a huff.

 

“You would,” Harry said with a snicker, kicking the bike to life.

 

Draco shot him a quelling glare, huffing. “Like your one to talk.”

 

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel hates waking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm embarrassed at the fact that I had to Google what a homophone was.

 

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

 

Ah to wake to the dulcet tones of a Winchester, Gabriel thought. Castiel was right, Sam's voice was grating. “No more Angel-zapping, Cas,” he said gruffly, pushing himself up off a bed. “Woah. How long as I out?”

 

“Fourteen hours,” Dean offered. “Which was fine, because without your non-stop yapping, driving ain't so bad. But then you would not wake the fuck up. Castiel tried whamming you awake and everything. We had to carry you in.”

 

“That was approximately seven hours ago. When I noticed you were in distress, I attempted to force you awake again,” Castiel agreed. “The remaining seven hours were spent attempting to wake you. However, you were...resistant. ”

 

“Yeah, and then you nearly melted our faces off,” Sam offered. “Which is why we need to pack it in, and head out because I'm pretty sure you were screaming in your real voice, or whatever. If we didn't attract any Holy rollers, we've at least caught the attention of the desk clerk.”

 

“Samuel is right,” Castiel conceded, and Gabriel looked down at the floor, shimmering with broken glass from the windows. “I attempted to cover your grace with my own, but I cannot be sure yours went unnoticed.”

 

“Right,” Gabriel said, pushing himself up off the bed and following the Winchester to the car. He raised his hand to snap himself some candy, for candy never mind-whammied, attempted to kill, maim or betray him, only to frown when Sam took it upon himself to wrap his meaty paw around his hand again.

 

“That might not be a good idea,” he said, with a shrug. “Who knows what your freak out did to your grace or whatever.”

 

Scoffing indignantly, Gabriel tugged his hand free and snapped his finger.

 

And got a box full of chalk for his efforts.

 

“Chocolate?” Sam asked, looking at the yellow and green crayola box.

 

At least it was name-brand chalk, Gabriel huffed inwardly. His grace hadn't given up taste, at least. “I hate all of you,” he grumbled, pulling a piece of white, smooth chalk, and chucking it at Dean.

 

Dean caught it, rolled his eyes and freed his keys from his pocket. “Oh, thanks dude. Toss that in the trunk, we were running low on chalk. Oh, and it’s even the good kind.” He grinned when Gabriel glared from the back seat. Damned hunters.

 

“Oh shit,” he said suddenly, eyes wide as he remembered. “Hunters. Hunters. I dreamed of hunters. One of them had my scythe!”

 

“Scythe? I thought Death had a scythe,” Sam said from the passenger seat. Castiel popped himself into the car beside Gabriel, looking slightly ruffled, but no less stern than ever.

 

“Besides Messenger of God, I was also the Angel of Rebirth. Azreal and I...Let’s just say the Angel of Deth and I didn’t get along. I had a lot of jobs upstairs; I was a busy man. But I know what I saw. My scythe, it's been around since creation. It was made for me, for when I descended into Purgatory, to collect the souls of the Forgiven. It can kill anything; Angels, Demons, Reapers, Demi-Gods. Probably even Winchester’s.”

 

“I didn't think you had actual weapons,” Dean cut in, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. “I mean, Michael doesn't have an actual sword, right? The whole time, I was the Michael sword.”

 

“Who the hell told you that?” Gabriel said, leaning between the the front seats. “Hell yeah we have weapons. I mean, you've seen Castiel's short sword. But only our vessels can wield...” He sat back violently, body slamming into the unforgiving leather seats. “Well that might make finding him easier. We just need to find a guy with scythe no one but he can touch.”

 

“Your vessel?” Sam said, turning in his seat. He shot Gabriel a look so incredulous, it had to hurt.  “Your vessel found your weapon. Where the hell did you leave it?”

 

“Hey!” Gabriel growled, eyes flashing. “It's not like I left an angelic weapon of death on display at Disney World. I hid it. I hid it on an entirely different plane of existence beneath layers of Pagan magic. My son was...Crap. My son was guarding it. I knew I should have left it with Hel, but no Joe insisted. It wasn't like he was doing anything else but laying around, fucking with people.”

 

“Is that like the family business?” Dean asked with a snort.

 

Sam shot him a worried look, mouth pulled into a frown.  “I'm sure he's fine?” As far as being the most comforting Winchester, Gabriel thought he was kind of crap at it.

 

“Of course he's fine. Jormungand, his mother picked that name by the way, I like to call him Joe, faked his own death and then killed Thor, for fucks sake. However that mortal got my scythe, it wasn't by killing Jormungand. Buying him maybe, bribing him, blackmailing him, but fighting for it...I think not. The real question is how he knew where to look.”

 

“Faked his own death, eh?” Dean said, racing along the road. “That’s family business. He really takes after his dad, doesn't he?”

 

“It's a brilliant escape and-or diversionary tactic,” Gabriel sniped, fingers twitching to snap. Castiel gave him a hard look, and he dropped his hand. “Anyway, I didn't see you complaining when I pretended to die for your cause.”

 

“Okay, so your vessel has your scythe,” Sam cut in before Dean could reply. “What does that mean for you?”

 

“Not a lot, except there is a mortal out there playing with weapon as old as the Earth itself,” Gabriel stared out the window as the world passed in a blur of muddy brown and dull green. “He's a hunter, who ever he is.”

 

“What was he hunting?” Dean asked, mouth pulling into a frown to match Sams. It was possible their faces were just stuck like that. “Maybe we can find him that way.”

 

A fucking brilliant idea, and Gabriel was a little pissed for not thinking of it himself, of course. He did not say as much but gave Dean a grin. “Look at you, using your upstairs brain. Cute. I don't know what they were hunting Deano. Looked like a little like a Reaper, to be honest. Felt like one too.”

 

“Looked like but...wasn't?” Sam said, already flipping through his journal. “What did it do? Did you see it do anything?”

 

“Uh,” Gabriel frowned. “It floated? I don't know. There were quite a few of them. As soon as I dropped in though, they came after me.”

 

“So...it wasn't a dream. Some how you sleeping connects you to your Vessel,” Sam said thoughtfully, scrawling something across a wrinkled napkin.

 

“His grace is at ease when he sleeps,” Castiel cut in finally, his smoky voice especially ominous in the quiet car. “When awake, you are actively, albeit subconsciously, blocking your connection with your vessel. It is most likely an inherent habit, at this point.”

 

“Alright, that’s good to know,” Sam nodded, making another note on the stained napkin. .”Anyway, what else? How do you know they weren't reapers?”

 

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” Gabriel asked tiredly. He knew what a fucking reaper was, and that wasn’t it. “I get that my mojo's on the fritz, but I'm still an angel. They were a lot like Reapers, Sammy boy, but they weren't right. They had Purgatory inside them. They were full of Nothing. Reapers might be a bunch of ass-holes, but they’re made from Grace, and directly connected to God's Will. These...things....they ate souls. Devoured them into the Nothingness. Five seconds with them, and I could feel it eating at me like all your worst fears come to life.”

 

The car was silent, nothing but the sound of worn tires on wet pavement. “I've never heard of anything like that,” Dean said, at last, staring out the window before him.

 

“Nothing like that in the book,” Sam said, snapping the journal shut. “We're going to have talk to Bobby.”

 

Bobby met them in Missouri; he'd been there anyway, bailing Rufus out of jail. They'd met him at a shitty road side bar, eyes on the door, looking surly as ever. “You're buying me a beer,” he'd said in way of greeting, pushing up his grungy trucker cap.

 

They shoved into back booth, Gabriel squeezed awkwardly between Sam and Castiel while Dean snicked from the opposite side while he tried not to make eyes at his brother over a PBR, in front of the nearest thing to a father they had. Ever had, really.

 

“Ain't heard nothin’ bout' no Reaper shit,” Bobby said, his beaded mouth grim. “But uh, that other shit sounds familiar. The shitty feeling, temperature dropping, the fear...been a lot of that outta no where lately. People freakin' out , big groups too, not just small shit. Stadiums of people...just going nuts; screaming, crying. You know, civilians they don't wanna talk about that shit, but you get a few who'll talk. Say it's like reliving your worst fears, your saddest moments. Makes you sick with it, whatever it is I guess. So sick, I guess some people...just...go to sleep, and they don't wake up.”

 

“That sounds about right,” Gabriel piped in. “They ain't sleeping Bobby. Whatever the hell it is, it eats souls.”

 

“Why can you see it?” Sam piped in. “I mean, it's obvious why you can see it, but why can't everyone. Didn't you say your vessel definitely saw it?”

 

“He cut right through it,” Gabriel conceded. “He had to see it. But he's mortal; he's human.”

 

“You don't know that,” Castiel argued. “The grace you gave in return for the blood could have altered the line. Who is to say your vessels remained wholly human? You cannot know that.”

 

“Fine, whatever. He saw it, I saw it. No one else though?” Gabriel leaned back in the booth, and shrugged.. “Whatever it is, I've never even heard of it. Which means it's never caused problems before. Whatever it is, it was recently created, or it was recently freed.”

 

“Well then, I ain't got much to help you with, but uh, they're been word of em' in the south from what I know. Deep south,” Bobby said grimly. “Reckon thats why no hunter taken the case. You know how them Southerner's get.”

 

“We just need to find the Hunter,” Dean argued, finishing off his beer. “A Hunter in the south should be easy to find, right? I mean, he'd be the only one going after this, right?”

 

Bobby shrugged, wiping his mouth and mustache on the back of his hand. “That’s the thing, kid. I ain't heard about  no one going after whatever this is. And you ever been found? Hunters don't wanna be found, Dean, especially a Hunter in the south. Whoever it is, they'll be laying low, I think. I can put the word out, but uh....don't got a whole lot to go on. And what I do know, it’s circumstantial at best. ”

 

“I don’t know about that” Sam said, jostling Gabriel as he shrugged. “ Cas said the Vessel was in the south, same as these things. Can’t be a coincidence.”

 

“Yeah, and my best guess is New Orleans. Lotta funny shit gets up in New Orleans, and them Creoles, they hate us hunters the most,” Bobby replied. “It's the Souths anchor. Think Sunnydale from Buffy; it's where the magic happens,” He said with a rough smile, and a snort.

 

He finished his beer and looked at Gabriel. “Figure I owe you one, eh? It ain't legs, but I'll do what I can.” Gabriel bit back a wince; he hadn't healed the man so he'd owe him favors, though he'd admit that wasn't exactly out of his realm of possibilities. However, healing Singer had been one of his least selfish acts in the last century. It had simply been that he'd seen a truly good man wrongly done and couldn't help but fix it.

 

He didn't say this of course, but simply shrugged. “The legs are a freebie, Singer. Do me this favor, and I'll owe you one.”

 

The comment earned him three confused expressions and Castiel’s continued, if not slightly more penetrating, blank stare. It made him decidedly uncomfortable. And weirdly Angelic. “What the fuck we waiting for?”

 

*****

  
  


Harry fell onto the bed with an aching groan. “Never again.” He hissed, as Luna settled herself down beside him, face down in the pillow, her hair a tangled mess of soot-stained curls.

 

“You say that every time.” Draco smirked, wincing as the expression aggravated the blue-black bruise on his cheek. “I did warn you.”

 

“Next time, you're the bait,” Harry grumbled as he toed of his shoes, the words slurred and muffled by the pillow.

 

Draco waved his wand once more, spelling the doors and windows shut, before dropping his wand beside his pillow on his own bed. “You say that every  time too,” he murmured, hair spilling across the mute blue cotton bedsheets. “But I'm horrible Dementor bait, and we both know it. Face it Potter, I'm just not as perky as you.”

 

“Your arse isn't as perky as mine,” Harry muttered in reply. “I hate you.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, burrowing himself under the light blankets. “Yeah, yeah, I'm a filthy pure blood brat. Blah blah blah, go to bed.”

 

To tired and sore to argue further, Harry intended too, but not before chucking one of the lumpy hotel pillows in Draco's direction. Luna looked up from her pillow and smiled, eyes still glazed in a way he'd never be use to.

 

She blinked it away and gave him a sheepish smile. “I'm very sure it isn't important, but I believe we are to be making new friends from high places, in the near future.”

 

Draco laughed, rolling on his side. “I think in this line of business we'd be better served by friends in low places.”

 

Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as the mist of Vision floated across her eyes again. She blinked it away once more, and gave them both a dimpled grin. “Two of each, I See. Two high, and two low. ”

 

“That's useful that,” Draco said dryly, cutting through the silence.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Harry murmured, bumping his shoulder against Luna and giving her a smile. She often Saw a lot, without Seeing anything at all.

 

He woke to an incessant buzzing, hands scrabbling in his pocket to free the little silver lighter. Flicking it open, he peered into the tiny green flame. “What is it, Mione?”

 

The tiny flickering green face of Hermione Granger peered back at him from the mini-floo.

“George, Fred and Ginny think they've found a Nest. All signs point to New Orleans. It's a high-activity Magical community, I'm not surprised they'd set up shop there. Add to that it's March; the Muggles will be high celebration for Mardi Gras. They're already arriving in the city.”

 

“Happy, horny, drunken muggles. Lovely; that's a veritable feast for Dementors.” Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes with his free hands as he grappled for his InvisaSpecs. Setting to them nose, he winces as they melted into his face, invisible to everyone around him. “We're in central Texas; how close are you? We'll need all teams.”

 

The green flame flickered. “We're a days out; Ron and I already packing. I've advised George that they refrain moving in until we've met up, but he's insisting on recon work. The festival lasts quite a while. You might have a word with him?”

 

“P'rhaps,” Harry said, stifling a yawn. “It's not early here, but I think we can be there by nightfall.”

 

*

 

“Dude,” Dean said, fingers curling over Sam's shoulder as they drove along the crowded road. “Mardi Gras.”

 

“Yeah, it's great Dean,” Sam rubbed his temples “We're going to have to sleep in the car. There's no way we'll find a hotel in this.”

 

“Dude!” Dean said again, unaffected by Sam’s eternal whining. “Mardi Gras!”

 

“I do not believe Samuel misunderstood you the first time,” Castiel intoned, from the back seat. “This holiday is a celebration of bereavement and sin. It is a mockery of what was once a religious experience of sacrifice”

 

“Yeah, but...”Dean frowned. “All holidays are pretty much mockeries of religion, Cas.”

 

“Mardi Gras was once a day of mild indulgence. Now it is little more than a cacophony of Deadly Sins. Lust, sloth, gluttony....” Castiel gave him a peculiar look. “I would not think you would be interested in such purveying of the carnal pleasures as you once might have.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Dean asked, peering at Castiel in the rear view mirror.

 

Castiel's eyes flickered to the blushing younger Winchester, who Dean was steadfastly not looking at . “No particular reason.”

 

“For fucks sake! We're not here to party and look at boobs,” Gabriel growled, frowning. His face fell, crumpling into a mask of pain and horror “Oh please tell me I did not just say that.”

 

“It's more serious than I thought,” Dean told him solemnly. “You're becoming Cas.”

 

They found the Reapers. Or rather...the Reapers found them. They'd parked the Impala behind an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, as Carnivale was nearly in full swing and driving would be impossible. Barely had they stepped out of the car when Gabriel felt it, swooping down in on he and Cas, a cloud of black Nothing.

 

He heard his brother gasp, shoving the Winchesters back. They scrambled about in confusion. “What? What? What is it?” Dean hissed, scrabbling for his gun.

 

Sam's face was pale as he curled his hand over Deans arm, voice raspy. “What...what is that. Oh God...” he moaned, closing his eyes. “Oh my God.”

 

“Shit!” Gabriel hissed, shoving Castiel backwards, against the car. They'd chase him, he thought, if he made a run for it. “Cas! Get out of here!”

 

Castiel reached for his arm, but Gabriel dodged him. “Can't zap me, remember? Get out of here! I'll be fine. Take the Hardy boys and haul ass----”

 

A crack like a whip exploded in the air, and Gabriel shoved his brother forward. “Get em' and go, bro!” He hissed, stumbling back as the Reaper's crowded forward closing in on him. Some chased after Castiel, but his brother escaped, vanishing, only to reappear at the Winchesters side.

 

“Go!”  Gabriel yelled stumbling through the dirt. Stumbling, him, the archangel. That didn't matter...wouldn't matter for much longer.

 

A Reaper hovered over him, brittle hand outstretched towards Gabriel as it opened it's mouth, revealing the deathless darkness within it. Gabriel steeled himself, pulling his Grace as close as possible. He'd have to use it, he realize, hoping that it wouldn't fail him now.

 

“Duck!” Twin voices called out, echoing in the dark

. Gabriel barely had time to consider the order, let alone obey, but he dropped to his knees, back still pressed against the aluminum siding of the warehouse. The Reaper did not waver in his pursuit, boney hand grabbing Gabriel by the jaw. He watched the thing open it's mouth wide, reveal an abyss of black, when suddenly it screamed, tumbling forward against the aluminum siding of the warehouse.

 

Gabriel's vision went black, and he realized the thing had him pinned against the building, blanketing his vision in clouds of rot. The liquid-fabric of its cloak rent from it's bones, melting and hissing into an oozing puddle of what Gabriel was sure was primordial ooze, all over him. With a final screech, nothing was left but shreds of wispy fabric hanging from an arrow that had pierced the Reapers head, pinning him to the building by the arm of his shirt. Gabriel blinked the vile liquid from his eyes, gasping.

 

A young girl with violent red hair stared back him, bow strung taught in her hands. “Oi! Gred, Forge! You said this place was clear! I found a Muggle!” She rushed forward, yanking at Gabriel's shirt, tearing him free from the arrow. “Come on then, up you. Well? What are you waiting for? Get your kit off. Those things aren't quite dead as they seem.” She rolled her eyes, yanking at his shirt. He let himself be stripped, dread still churning his stomach. He did like red heads, but this really didn't seem like the time to get naked.“Recon work! Honestly, I should have known better than to listen to them....”

 

“He's bloody well covered in it,” a voice said, from the darkness. A pair of twins stepped out into the light, hair a similar shade of violet red-orange as the girls’. “Regeneration in T-Minus two minutes. Did you get them all tagged, Gin? Just got word from Harry, he's on his way here. We can tag em', he can bag em.”

 

The girl nodded, jutting her chin at Gabriel. He wasn't use to the indifferent treatment; he'd never felt so small in his life, physically as well as...everything else. Darkness creeped in at the edges of his vision, and he realized the ooze was seeping into his skin, sucking away the brightness.“What do we do with the Muggle? He's covered in that shite; we can't just oblivate him. He needs to be detoxed. We'll have to call Hermione.”

 

His head spun, feeling heavy on his shoulders; he wondered if this was what it was like to die. His fingers twitched at his side; the urge to flee most prominent in his mind. What the hell was a Hermione?

 

“Only one thing to do, I recon.” The other twin pulled a chain from his shirt, a small door hanging oddly from it's length. Through blurry eyes, Gabriel watched the twin drop the little door on the ground, to gone to be surprised as it grew and grew and grew.

 

“Well,” the girl said, pushing open the door. “The demon won't like this.”

 

And then the word faded away.

 

**

 

Waking would always be strange. The tumble into consciousness was never easy; it reminded him to much of the tumble from heaven. The lines of reality stayed blurred for too long, letting your subconscious linger between states, affixed in a state of confused awareness. Gabriel didn't care for sleeping overly much, but he loathed waking.

 

He blinked in the darkness, staring up into the dark blue canopy of a foreign bed. His skin still crawled from the primordial Reaper-ooze, but he was clean, and very nearly grateful for it. As much as he had it in him to be grateful for anything. His grace hummed, wrapped warm around him, tickling across his skin in contentment.

 

Contentment; it was almost foreign to him.

 

A grin split his face when he realized what it was; his vessel was near. He could feel him, so close he could almost touch him. He was here, wherever here was, and Gabriel found himself eager to meet the man he was meant to wear.

 

He followed the feeling out the bedroom door, up a corridor, down three flights of rickety, spiraling stairs and past a questionably decorated wall, covered in the heads of equally questionable (and ugly) creatures, until he was dumped into what might have been a dungeon or a dining room. The room in question was long and narrow, mostly filled with a very long, equally narrow table.

 

It was windowless and nearly airless, dimly lit sconces flickering weakly on the walls, casting ominous shadows across the dark brick walls. A break in the wall was made by a Victorian-looking archway, giving way to the kitchen.

 

He could see the black round belly of an ancient looking stove, illuminated by peculiar floating candles. These were no mere mortals, he knew as much, but to see such things done without a second glance was still a novelty to him. Another ugly looking little creature (with body still attached) tottered around the kitchen, wearing a violent orange neck-tie like a diaper, banging pots and pans quietly as it did whatever it did.

 

He seated himself across from the one he'd heard called Demon, the last of his vessel line, and stared at him without shame. He was short, like Gabriel; a family trait, he assumed. Gabriel probably picked it up in the blood; he wasn't much taller (no taller at all if he were forced to be honest) himself. He had the same thin mouth as Gabriel, and too-broad shoulders with a too-narrow waist. Light eyes, straight nose, messy hair; the blood was there. The vessel also had horns; he'd have to ask about that later.

 

Gabriel couldn't see them, but knew that they were there, sprouting out of his head like daisies in the dirt. He didn't feel particularly dark; as a devout man (as all Vessels were), he probably wasn't. Stranger things had happened, of course. Strange; the whole damn thing was strange.

 

The young man hadn't bothered to look at Gabriel as he cut into his chocolate chip pancakes, newspaper floating beside him, pages turning at his whim. Even at the obvious dismissal, Gabriel sat with gleeful patience, watching in delight as his Vessel snapped his fingers, conjuring a second plate of pancakes and sliding it wordlessly with a single finger across the table.

 

Not to be outdone, Gabriel snapped his fingers recklessly, a tiny carafe of Vermont maple syrup appearing between them. Just like he thought; merely in the vicinity of the Vessel, his Grace was healing. It took all his scanty willpower not to snap up something naked and pretty just for the hell of it. Bad table manners, he figured; wouldn't do to insult his vessels possible delicate senses.

 

Who the hell was Gabriel kidding? The man had fucking horns.

 

They ate in silence, forks scraping across ceramic as they slid their pancake bites through the sticky syrup. His vessel finished the very last bite on his plate before deigning to give Gabriel even the most passing of glances.

 

“Well,” he said, cupping his chin in one palm and snapping his fingers with the other. Two steaming cups of coffee appeared before them respectively, plates vanishing. “Now that breakfast is out of the way, who the hell are you and what are you doing in were you doing at the warehouse?”

 

Gabriel blinked, a slow smile spreading over his face as the vessel before him whirled his finger tip over the surface of his coffee almost absently, sending the foamy-cream into a spiral.

 

“My name is Gabriel,” he replied, snapping his own fingers almost in challenge, a crinkly bag of M&M's appearing in his palm. He hid his delight at having his grace return full swing, and dumped half the contents into his cup, before sliding the other half across the table.

 

“Well?” The young man pushed , scooping up the candy. Gabriel watched as he separated out all the orange ones and banished them away before dumping the rest of the lot into his own cup without so much as a blink. “It was a two part question,” he continued, raising a slender brow with just enough cocky arrogance to make it look good.

 

Oh he was perfect. Gabriel just wanted to pinch his cheek.

 

Maybe even the one on his face.

 

“I was with friends at the warehouse, Hunters. We had no idea what we were up against. They managed to get away, but I wasn't as lucky. Your friends brought me here,” Gabriel explained, taking a sip from his own sugar-toxic chocolate sludge. “Apparently, I attract those reaper things.”

 

Green eyes snapped to him sharply over a steaming cup. “Is that so?”

 

“So it would seem,” Gabriel replied, leaning back in his own chair. “Can't say that I'm overly fond of the development, but it is what it is.”

 

“Hmm,” the vessel replied. “Tell me, Gabriel, are you especially pure of heart? Dementors like that. They like to eat innocence and despair alike. ”

 

Gabriel snorted, but reined himself in at his the man's solemn expression. “Not particularly. There are some who would say I have no heart at all. They don't understand why I do what I do.” He hadn't meant to say the latter at all; it sat a little too close to the darker truths. His mouth snapped to a close as he feigned nonchalance.

 

That earned him a sharp grin, green eyes glittering. “Well, that’s two things we have in common then.” Slender fingers drummed against the tabletop, flicking the m&m package, as he stared at Gabriel, expression thoughtful. “I don't know what you do, but what I do? It scares people.” He gave Gabriel another easy smile.

 

“They called me the Master of Fear, among other things, you know? Might be the only moniker I ever really earned. They said it, while fearing me, because I liked what I did. Like what I do. Everyone knows the expression 'some one has to do it' but when someone actually does it, every one else acts so horrified.” He sighed, shrugging his narrow shoulders. “Doesn't mean it doesn't need to be done, you know? So what if I enjoy it?”

 

It earned a laugh out of Gabriel who had been doing God's dirty laundry for a long time, and had enjoyed almost every second single it. He'd never denied liking what he did; Gabriel loved his luxurious lifestyle, it's what kept him out of the war for so long. “Oh, more than you could know, I imagine,” he replied, licking a smudge of chocolate of my fingertips.

 

“What do you do? What do they call you, Gabriel?”

 

“Sometimes they call me Loki.” Even as the words hit him, Gabriel felt his grace shudder, the truth dancing at the tip of his tongue begging to be set free. It felt chemical and wrong; as if the truth was being suffocated out of him. “What did you do to me?” He asked at once, eying his coffee cup. “What did you do?”

 

“Tell the truth and it will stop hurting,” Demon replied lightly. “Just tell the truth.”

 

He closed his eyes, hiding in the darkness from the truth. It was the closest thing to panic he had ever felt, wings fluttering inside him like a very large, destructive hummingbird. Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Little burst of light exploded behind his eyelids, blinding him with things he refused to admit, even to himself.

 

Angeljusticelifedeathmessangerofgodpagengodlokianagelangelagneljusticemessangertrickster!

 

He clutched his head and glared at his Vessel as he felt a betraying shiver race up his spine. “You shouldn't have done that.” His nails bit into his scalp as he fisted his hair, struggling to keep himself reigned in. He could feel it, how thin his skin had become, how close to the truth he'd come. He was wearing thin, wearing out; it wouldn't be long now, he thought. His Grace might have returned to it's natural state, but his flesh, however, had not.

 

He felt like he might burst.

 

His Vessel's eyes narrowed further. “You have to tell the truth. What are you, and what are you doing here?”

 

“There are better ways of asking,” Gabriel snarled, feeling his grace shiver at the demanding intrusion. He pushed at the poison but it did no good. He was pretty sure, for the first time ever in Ever, he was going to puke. Then he was going to strangle his Vessel.

Maybe.

 

Only a little.

Just till he passed out.

 

Angeljusticelifedeathmessangerofgodarchangelarchangelarchangel!

 

“Not here to hurt you, you little bastard,” he murmured, before falling into a dead faint.

 

**

 

“Should'a known you'd be a bastard,” Gabriel slurred, blinking up at his vessel from the floor. “What the hell did you give me?”

 

“Veritserum,” the young man replied with an unrepentant grin and Gabriel couldn't help but be proud of him for it; the lack of guilt was endearing. “Makes you tell the truth. Well, it's suppose to,” he added as an after thought. “Doesn't work so well on me either. Three things, Gabriel, that we have in common.”

 

“There are a lot of truths to tell,” he said with a scowl, head swimming. “You could have just asked.”

 

“And you would have told me, just like that?” His vessel asked, offering him a hand. He took it, feeling his whole being skip and stutter as their skin touched. It felt as if the ground had lurched, though nothing had moved an inch. Fuck, he thought, feeling his skin tingle and itch; this was his Vessel, the body he was meant to be inside of.

 

He kind of wondered if that notion turned his angel brothers on much as it did Gabriel.

He also kind of doubted it.

 

“Anyway,” his vessel said slowly, blinking as he slid his hand back out of Gabriel's. “don't take it personally. I do it to everyone who comes through here; defensive measure, I'm sure you understand. I'm happy you're not here to hurt me though,” he offered with a grin. “I'd hate to have to kill you.”

 

“I’d love to see you try,” Gabriel replied, raising his own brow. “There’s a bit of a queue, though. You don't know what I'm capable off.”

 

Demon snorted, disappearing before Gabriel's eyes and reappearing across the table, in his own seat once again. “But I know what I'm capable of. Let's just say I'm...confident in my abilities.”

 

“Show off,” Gabriel replied. He refused to be outdone, and snapped his fingers. The room echoed with the sound of lightning and thunder and the man looked at him from across the table, scowl firm in place as a small dark cloud rained down from above him.

 

“Hilarious,” he replied, eyelashes heavy with raindrops. “You know, I've never met a Wizard as powerful as you,” he shrugged. “Except for me. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but that’s saying something. You're quite the enigma, Gabriel, and I can't say I'm overly fond of mysteries. I've never been fond of being kept in the dark, if you understand my meaning..”

 

Gabriel heard the note of challenge in his voice, but ignored it. “A man has to have his secrets.”

 

Another cocky half grin as his Vessel snapped himself dry. “Secrets breed lies; you already know how I feel about lying.”

 

This challenge, Gabriel answered, and with a modicum of truth. “Then it might be prudent to inform you that I’m not a Mage, Demon.”

 

Every muscle pulled taut in the young mans body, magic crackling invisible across his skin like static electricity. Gabriel watched as he reached into his coat, extracting a slender, black scaled snake. He didn't blink as his Vessel held the serpent to his face and hissed at it, every syllabic sound rolling of his tongue with ease. The snake bobbed it's head, slithering down the mans arm and disappearing into the house.

 

One more piece to the puzzle fell in place; one more question answered. Gabriel sat up at once, mouth open in mock indignation. “That’s how you got past my son!” He said at once, smacking his hand on the table. “You speak the Olde Language. What did you do? Bribe him? He's my son, I never doubted he could be bought.” He just hadn't thought any one would bother. It wasn't exactly a day trip to Purgatory. Not to mention there was just no way the man should have known where to look. Did he know what he held? Did he know what he was to Gabriel?

 

“What?” The young man replied, tension giving way to affronting confusion. “That was an intruder warning; if the others see him, they'll know you're not what you say you are. What the hell are you going on about?”

 

“First off, I never said I was a Wizard,” Gabriel argued, feeling irritated. Bloody mortals speaking the Serpents Tongue. It just wasn't done! “In fact, I never said what I was at all. You know what they say about assuming? It makes you look like an ass. And secondly, what the hell did you say to Joe?”

 

“Joe? Who the bloody hell is Joe?” His vessel asked, bristling. “What are you on about?”

 

“Joe! Jorgamund! My son! Who you took my scythe from, dammit. That's what we're talking about!” Gabriel finished with a glower, golden gaze narrowed at his vessel who could only stare back wide eyed and baffled. His hands flew to the scythe ever present on his back, fingers curling around the ancient petrified wood.

 

Gabriel felt the touch down to his bones but he did not shiver.

 

Much.

 

“How do you...you can't...you can't know that!” He replied, pushing to an abrupt stand eye flashing, cheeks red. His chair toppled over behind him, righting itself at once before scurrying away to hide in the pantry. “Are you spying on me? On us? Who are you? What do you want!?”

 

“I don't need to spy to know that's my scythe!” Gabriel sneered, pushing to a stand and pointing at the shimmer of a blade peeking over Potter's shoulder. Harry laid a hand on the table between them as it attempted to crawl away in terror, much to Gabriel's amusement.

“It even has my name on it.”

 

“It does not!” Harry replied, petulantly. “No one can touch it but me. The snake said---”

 

“Jorgamund isn't just a snake,” Gabriel said, with fatherly indignation. It was his son they were talking about, after all. “He's an oborous, a guardian of Purgatory and my freaking son! And yet you took from him my scythe? How? Who told you where to look? Someone would have had to tell you.”

 

His vessel took a deep breath, palm stroking over the excitable table soothingly. Gabriel could see the flickering of reluctant belief dawn behind those green eyes. He waited, with all the patience he ever had, which could be counted as very little, giving the young man an expectant look.

 

“He thought I was his father.”

 

Gabriel's mouth fell open once before he managed to snap it closed again. “Yes, well. He's never been the brightest bulb in the socket. Dammit, I should have left it to Hel.”

 

“It's because our magic feels the same, isn't it?” The man asked, gaze inquisitive. “I felt it when you entered the kitchen; to be honest, it was one of the reasons I didn't attack. I thought...perhaps we were related. Not that I have much in the way of family. But you're not a Wizard. What are you?” His voice was accusatory, but mostly curious. What it wasn't, much to Gabriel's pleasure, was fearful. The man before him was truly unafraid.

 

“I'm many things. You know, something like a jack-of-all-trades. ” Gabriel replied with a sly grin. “But I guess, when it comes down to you and I, kiddo, I'm an Angel.”

 

******

  
  


Barely had the words fallen from the strange mouth when the door slammed open, bodies filing out in a rush, wands at the ready. “We saw the snake,” Hermione began, her brown eyes pinned on Gabriel, arm steady. “Are you okay?”

 

Harry's mouth had fallen open, but he could do nothing for it; didn't even have it in him to order the crew to stand down. “You're having one on,” he accused, somewhat breathlessly.

 

Golden eyes narrowed at him, smirk falling from the mans face. “You don't seem nearly as surprised as you should be. Didn't you hear what I said? Hello, Angel!”

 

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes as he waved his friend's tension away with a wave of his hand. “Stand down, he's safe,” he said flippantly, eyes only for Gabriel. “You're not the first of your kind I've met. Actually...actually he mentioned a Gabriel.” The memory was vague (death did that), but the name had always stuck with him. Gabriel, Azrael had said it, and laughed.

 

He watched the angel's eyes harden, a shimmer of power stifling the air. The rawness of the magic (or whatever it was) brushed across his skin, familiar and deep. He felt like he had known it all his life; comforting and warm like a favorite blanket. “Who? What angel? Did someone come for you?”

 

Frowning, Harry cocked his head to the side. “Azrael,” he replied. “Why would anyone be after me?” Beside the usual reasons, but Harry wasn't about to get into all that. It wasn't like anyone posed any real threat these days; not to him anyway.

 

The man's eyes drifted across their audience, mouth pulled into a tight frown. “They're safe,” Harry assured him easily. “Anything you tell me, I'll tell them anyway.”

 

“Right,” Gabriel replied, rolling his eyes. He took a step back, leaning against the kitchen sideboard. “What do you know about Angels? You met Azrael? You've had a brush with Death then?”

 

Harry laughed, and he wasn't the only one. The bursting bubbles of snorts and giggles echoed against the low ceiling, and Gabriel scowled at them.

 

“You might say that,” Harry replied at once, wary of repercussion. He didn't doubt Gabriel's claims, though he might have if it hadn't been for Azrael; if it hadn't been for his whole damn life. “I'm...on familiar terms with Death. Anyway, Azrael mentioned a Gabriel. Not necessarily you.”

 

“I'm the only Gabriel Azrael would have bothered to mention,” the angel replied. “Azrael's always been a bit of an...elitist. A lot of the Archangels are like that. I myself use to be, but I've....spent some time with the commoners, you might say,” he finished, some what cryptically. “It pays to have friends in low places.”

  
  


Low places. Harry frowned, remembering Lunas words.

 

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “What did he have to say? Nothing nice I’m sure, we we’re never all that close.”

 

Draco piped in from the back, eyes narrowed. “Luna spoke of you,” he said quietly, nudging the even blonder young woman beside him.

 

“You're one of four,” she breathed, her eyes misting over. “Two Angels, and two...I'm not sure.”

 

“The Winchesters,” Gabriel cut in. “They're hunters. And you're a prophet. More on that later, yeah? Let's get back to the subject at hand. What did Azrael say?”

 

Harry frowned, sighing as he watched his friends attempt to appear uninterested as they stared about, nonchalantly. “Well...he said my...soul tasted like you....My magic, yeah? I said as much. Then he ….um....started laughing.” Harry stared hard at the floor. “He said only Gabriel could be responsible for making Wizards.”

 

The angel before him stared, wide-eyed, for a long moment before bursting out into rapacious laughter. Harry watched him double over, clutching his stomach as his shoulder's shook with the force of his mirth. “Oh...oh thats just...that's fantastic. Castiel is going to be so pissed.”

 

“Oh come on Harry,” Hermione's voice cut a through the laughter as she pushed way past Fred and George who were watching with side eyed awe. “You can't honestly believe this, can you? ”

 

“Hermione....” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “How can I not?With everything thats happened... ”

 

She blinked at him, hands on her hips. “This?” She said, pointing to the unrepentant angel who was now going through Harry's cupboards without so much as a blink. “You think that he created Wizarding kind. You think he's an Angel? That he's one of Gods? Look at him, Harry, he's not an angel, he's a joke! He couldn't even defend one Dementor! One!”

 

“Hermione, you know I couldn't handle them at first eith---”

 

The temperature flailed in the room, sweat raising against there skin as Gabriel turned to look at her, eyes a violent gold. “I'm hurt, ” he drawled, wagging a finger at her, mouth quirked in a frighting smile. “Deeply, deeply hurt. Then again, you always were a skeptic, Hermione Jane Granger. Oh sure, you want to believe in God, but you were always to caught up needing proof, right? If you can't see it...if there is no logic... If you don't believe I gave you your magic, maybe I should just take it back.”

 

Hermione hissed sharply, taking quick step back, and Gabriel laughed. “What are you worried about? I'm a joke right? Can't fight against Reaper spawn, surely I can't take away your magic. You're so sure, after all, that I'm not an angel, right?Right?”

 

Harry watched the shadows behind Gabriel twist and spread, stretching out across the walls almost like...like....

 

Wings, his mind supplied helpfully. Bloody wings.

 

“Gabriel,” Harry said at once, banishing the table between them and wrapping his arm around Gabriel's wrist.

 

The angel blinked, turning to look at Harry. “Sorry. I've been a little out of sorts lately. What do you know about Angels?” He asked lightly, as if he hadn't been ready to smite Hermione where she stood. Out of sorts, indeed.

 

Harry waited until Fred and George had a firm hold on Hermione, Luna and Draco stepping out in front of them, ever his personal guard dogs. “Not a lot,” Harry admitted. “Meeting Azrael was...not really an accident. It's hard to explain.”

 

Gabriel nodded, snapping his fingers. The excitable kitchen table reappeared, chairs back in place. “You might want to sit down for the whole story I suppose. I'd ask for privacy, but I've always loved an audience,” he flashed Hermione a grin and earned a scowl. “Anyway, what did Azrael look like? It's been a while since I've seen my delightful brother.”

 

“Um,” Harry said, biting his lip. “He's a ginger?”

 

The Weasley collective all snorted.

 

“He would be,” Gabriel replied, laughing. “But see, the thing is...what you saw? That wasn't Azrael. That was his vessel. Mortals can't look at an Angel in their true form; it'll melt your eyes out. So we have vessels; devout humans willing to let us...wear them to the prom, so to speak,” Gabriel explained, smiling almost absently. Never let it be said Dean Winchester didn’t have a delightful way with words.  “A...friend of mine, he calls them Angel Condoms and it's not exactly an incorrect term. Angels get up in them, and wear them like a second skin. Azrael isn't really a ginger, he's an ass hole, but he's not a ginger. You get what I'm saying?”

 

Harry didn't answer, no one did for a long moment, before Luna's lilting light voice broke the silence. “You're not what you appear,” she said, giving him a cryptic grin. “But this skin is your own.”

 

“You're going to be a pain in the ass, aren't you?” Gabriel replied warily to Luna, and Harry watched his hands curl over the tables edge, knuckles white, for a brief moment before he managed to compose himself. “You're right though. The body I'm wearing is my own, and that’s why I'm here. See, I built this body a very long time ago...when I left Heaven. It was part of my rebellion...I wanted to show Them that I didn't need a vessel...that I didn't need Them.” He looked down at the table, mouth pulled into a moue, as if he hadn't meant to say as much. “So I built myself a body out of the fabrics of Time and the Universe and...the blood of my vessel. One drop.”

 

“That’s all very well and grand, but what does it have anything to do with you allegedly creating Witches and Wizards?” Hermione cut in, dropping into a seat as far from Gabriel as Fred and George could shove her. She gave him an expectant look, drumming her fingers along the table top. Harry glared, and kicked her lightly in the shin. “Please,” she added, for his benefit, scowling deeper.

 

“I was getting to that,” Gabriel replied loftily, snapping his fingers once more. It made Harry's fingers twitch, magic crackling between the tips. Suddenly, he found himself with a handful of Jelly Babies, Gabriel grinning at him brightly. “Sweet tooth,” he explained, popping one in his mouth and continuing on. “Right, where was I? Oh, yeah. Blood of thy vessel, or whatever. See, the thing is,I wasn't really thrilled about getting my vessel's blood in the first place, cause' like I said, it went against what I was going for, you know? I have a feeling that Potter here knows a bit about rebellion?” He pointed a finger at Harry, and grinned again. “So...if I was going to take from my vessel, I was going to give something back. My grace, my..magic, you might say,” he finished quietly, eyes closed.

 

One drop for one drop, but one drop of grace to a human is like a sea of magic to you all. I'm kind of speculating here, because it's really never been done before...but I can feel it in all of you, that bit of Grace. It's faint, barely noticeable...but you can feel it too, can't you? It'll reach out to me...it's what makes you curious...what makes you almost comfortable right now...un-doubting...nearly trusting. Even you, Granger. You can feel it.”

  
  


Hermione's eyes fell to the table, cheeks faintly pink. Harry could feel it, right in his chest, tugging at him, like an ache for more. “So...you gave this man your grace and he became a Wizard? The first Wizard? That would make your Vessel Merlin. He's...everyone knows he's the first Wizard.”

 

“Nope,” Gabriel replied, popping the 'p' like a bubble. “Because that was what? Fifth century? Nah, I came to Earth way before that. So my grace sat, resonated, soaking into the bloodline of my vessel. His children, his children's children; your ancestors, every one of you. For hundreds of years. This Merlin dude, I'm guessing he's just the first it ever manifested in....” Harry watched Gabriel bite his lip, as if in thought. “Anyway, that's how it probably all came about.”

 

“I don't get it,” Hermione cut in, less coldly. Harry was relieved to see her natural inclinations towards curiosity were winning out. “What is grace? How is it even possible to...to make mortals magical?”

 

The angel shrugged, slumping back in his chair in an position of lofty ease. “It's hard to explain to mortals. Best I can say is that Grace is Creation in raw form. Depending on the Angel, the possibilities of Grace are endless; it's...an endless well of miracles. Almost anything can be done with it. Is there anything you can't do with magic?”

 

“Alright,” Draco replied for benefit of the whole table, it seemed. “Say you are what you are, and it's clear Potter believes you but he's the only one who saw this Azrael chap now isn't he? But say you are an Angel, and you did create Wizards...why are you here now? What do you want with Potter? Whats this got to do with anything? You being here, it isn't a coincidence.”

 

Harry gave Draco a grateful smile; he was never one to mix words. When something needed to be said, Harry could count on Draco to come right out and say it. His casual brand of bluntness wasn't always what was needed, but it had come in handy a time or two, for which Harry was grateful.

 

“Well,” Gabriel said at length. “The line of Vessels didn’t end when my grace manifested in this Merlin fellow. It carried on with his children, and his childrens’ children.” He paused, eyes flickering back to Harry. “What do you know about your bloodline, Harry?”

 

Silence.

Then chaos.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But does it have to be blood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is formatted okay? Back when I still used LJ, I use to have the worst problems with it eating paragraphs and on occasion, whole chapters. 
> 
> Also, this is porn. I'm not...not the greatest at porn? I don't know. I try. I'm also not good at apostrophes, but everyone can learn, right?

“Every one shut the bloody fuck up!” Draco roared, slamming his hand down on the table. “This isn't open for discussion! This is Potter's life, Potter's decision. That being said, you all know that he will ask for your opinion. There's no bloody need to riot!” He turned to Gabriel, waving a flippant hand. “The floor's yours milord,” he said to Potter, giving him a mock bow, before mumbling, “bloody circus, I swear. I did not sign up for this.”

“Er, thank you, Draco,” Harry said, turning back to Gabriel. “I uh... I'm not sure how I feel about this. I mean...I don't want to be your bloody angel condom or whatever.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, and Harry felt strangely better at the gesture. “As I said, I don't want a Vessel. I'm rather fond of the skin I'm in, thank you very much; grew it myself, and all,” he patted his chest, before continuing. “But...I do need your blood. Just a drop, and in return, I'll grant you something. Anything you want that I can provide.”

Hermione's voice rang out before Harry could even think on it s she pointed her finger at Harry, eyes bright and begging.

“Don't you see what he's saying. Blood, Harry. He wants your blood. You of all people should know that's never worth it.”

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, cold dread filling him. “She's right,” Harry replied. “I can't just...I can't...” He watched the light go out in the Angels eyes, replaced with broken resignation. “I have to think about this. Anything else...but...” He sighed, raking a hand through his messy hair as he looked up at Gabriel looking smaller then before in the kitchen chair. “Every body get out.”

“What?” The twins said at once, Ron and Ginny echoing them as Hermione gave him a cold look.  
“Harry mate,” Ron said, frowning. “Come on...you don't need to be alone.”

Harry gave him a tired smile. “Look, it's been a long day, with the Dementors, and then this and...I trust him insofar that he won't hurt me because he needs me.”

“That is just ridiculous,” Hermione said, gaping. “He doesn't need you! He needs your blood! That's a perfectly good reason to hurt you!”

“You're making a much bigger deal about this then it really is,” Gabriel said, amused. “I mean, you might have issues, and I get that, everyone's got them, but I really just need a drop to heal my body and I'll grant you whatever you ask and be on my way.”

Hermione crowed victoriously. “Heal his body. Doesn't that sound familiar? Harry, you can't honestly be considering this!”

Even Draco looked a little more hesitant. “We'll have to make sure he's clean, Potter. If he has any connections to Vold---”

“I hadn't even thought that,” Ron cut in, and Draco snorted. “Christ...he's not even the first one to come after your blood since the War. I'm with Hermione on this, mate. Sorry.”

“Of course you are,” Harry snorted. “She's your wife. But seriously, guys...just..I need to think. Just give me a bit, will you? It's my day off anyway.”

Hermione let loose a tiny growl, pushing up out of her seat and slamming her fist on the table. “He could just take it! You can't expect us to just leave you with him, Harry! You don't even know if he's really an angel.”

He could feel it, the darker half of his magic bubbling up inside him like an angry cauldron, with every word she said. “Azrael said---”

“No one else saw him!” She said angrily, biting into her lip. Hermione sighed, giving him a pleading look. “Harry, come on. You know I'm not trying to be mean. Nothing I'm saying is wrong or untrue! I'm just...I'm just looking out for your best interest”

“By calling me a liar?” Harry asked, reeling back, boggled. “You never...you've never said you doubted me before. I know what I saw. Azrael, and he said---”

“I don't doubt you saw what you think you saw, Harry,” she replied diplomatically. “But that doesn't make it real. We don't know him,” she pointed at Gabriel once more. “You can't just believe him on a word, Harry. An Angel? How can you believe that....with all you've seen.”

“I believe it because of all I've seen, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “How can you not?”

“You lost your faith when your parents died,” Gabriel cut in, head cocked. “You have every reason to doubt, but don't force your non-beliefs down others throats.”

She turned her angry glare to Gabriel, hands splayed out over the table as she leaned forward. “You. You come here and talk a big talk but you have no proof! An Angel! Honestly! Show us evidence! Show us fact! You can't just come in here demanding blood! You can't just take---”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the sound was more promise then threat. He pointed his finger right back at Hermione who fought not to flinch but failed miserably. “That would be a negative, human. Have I made any demands? If I could take what I wanted, little girl, I would, and none of you would be non the fucking wiser. For a know-it-all, you sure do make a lot of assumptions. The Vessel must give willingly. Invading a host without consent goes against Rule Numero Uno. Free fucking will. It's a big no-no, one even I won't cross, and lets just say for the record, I've always been a little lax with the rule book. Pirate rules, and all.”

“Every one out,” Harry said again as Gabriel fell silent. “Look, I'm not deciding now, but I need to talk to him, and I need to do it without you harping in every other minute. Hermione, you know I love you and I value your opinion, but you're bloody pissing me off. I'm not a child, nor am I an idiot. Go. The Northern sector still needs to be sweeped, and we have two tagged Dementors unaccounted for. We can't shirk duties because of this mess. Team up, and head out. We'll meet up tonight here, if you can make it. Ron, Hermes? Your off duty, two days. Take a break.”

“Harry--”

“Go,” he said again, pointing towards the door. Ron curled his hand over his wife's arm and shot him an apologetic look as he and the twins ushered her out. Ginny lingered at the door, eyes flickering to Gabriel, and then to Harry.

“I trust you,” she said with a helpless shrug. “You've...you've always done the right thing.”

“Thanks Gin,” Harry said, waving her off. “Go on then, and get Hermione some chocolate. She's too far along to be out and about with the Dementors anyway, I'm going to have to have a talk with her.”

“She'll never listen,” Ginny replied, with a laugh.

“The mean ones in the family way, then?” Gabriel asked. Harry swiveled in his chair to find the man with his feet propped on the table, a Big Gulp firm in hand. “Don't think she likes me much.”

“She's...protective. It's the hormones. She's only a few months along,” Harry said with a sigh, resting his head on the table. “I do believe you, you know. The angel business. With what Azrael said, and...you do feel familiar. I can feel my magic reaching out to you...it's very strange. Like static on the skin. I just...can you give me proof?”

“If you weren't a Wizard, you'd believe me,” Gabriel replied. “Nothing I can do safely will impress you. I could show you my wings, but...there's a chance it would melt your eyes out...and...a bigger chance I'd be yanked back up to heaven and I don't know what they'd do to me. I've been rogue for a long time and recent efforts, I've made against them...well. They don't like me much.”

“You went against Heaven?” Harry asked, suddenly alarmed. The last thing he needed was that kind of Angel in his kitchen.

Gabriel snorted into his beverage. “I did, but it isn't like that. Heaven...doesn't always have Earths best interest in heart. They're very big on the end-game, up there. It isn't important, just look at it this way; I may not be square with my brothers, but Daddy still thinks I'm the good son.”

“God,” Harry breathed, looking up from where he had hung his head in his hands. “Like...God.”

“The one and only Head Honcho himself..”

“And he'd want me to give you my blood?” He asked, breathing slowly.

Gabriel faltered, it was easy to see. “Ah...no. Not exactly. That's your choice.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I...my body gives out, and I cash in my frequent flyer miles to attend an impromptu family reunion,” he explained with a faulty grin. “No big deal.”

“So basically if I say no, I'm an ass-hole,” Harry said with a sigh.

“You can't say yes because you feel guilty,” Gabriel huffed, shrugging his shoulders as he folded his hands over his stomach. “That'd be like a pity fuck, and no one wants that. Wouldn't work anyway; blood has to be given with a free heart and a free mind. You have to want me to have it.”

And that? That was easier said then done. “That's...you're asking a lot. I just...I want to, because...because I believe you, but it's not that easy.”

“No,” Gabriel sighed, dropping his head back. He stared up at the low ceiling. “It never is.”

“How long do you have?” The words made Harry cringe; put like that, it wounded like a terminal muggle illness, like cancer or something.

Gabriel righted his head, and Harry felt small beneath his gaze. “I'm not really sure. My Grace is actually already better just with proximity. Who knows, maybe all I need is a cuddle,” he said with a tired looking leer. “Who knows. I ain't gonna pressure you, kid, like it would do much good. You're gonna be weird about it, aren't you? Oh hell, you are. You're one of those martyr types. Don't worry about it, kiddo. Like you said, if you could, you would. That's something, I guess.”

“That's bullshit, actually. Someone stole my blood when I was fifteen,” Harry blurted out suddenly. His mouth went dry, and his palms went sweaty; he didn't like to talk about before. But...he felt like he had to; he had to give a reason. “To resurrect himself fully. To heal his body. He used me to bring himself back and then he...a lot of people died because of it. That’s why...it's like a mental block. I'm...very careful with my blood now.”

“That Voldehwhatever the blonde was talking about?” Gabriel asked, quirking a brow. “I can take care of him, if that's what it'll take. Say the word and he's gone, I can do that.”

Harry laughed, rubbing his forehead. “If only it were that easy, but uh, no, he's dead. I killed him a long time ago. The Dementor thing, that's a different story entirely. They're just...bad, soul-sucking monsters; the worst of the worst. What they do---”

“They're Reapers,” Gabriel cut in, with a shrewed look. “Rogue Reapers, I don't know much about it, that's Azraels gig, but those things are definitely Reapers. I'm guessing that’s what happens when a Reaper rebels. They go...dark.”

He took a deep breath, staring at Gabriel almost blindly. It made sense; that's why he could catch them. That's why he could banish them. Reapers; Draco owed him a gallon. So much for the Queen theory. “You're sure?” Harry asked, fingers twitching.

“I'm never anything less than sure,” Gabriel replied easily. “And on that note, that's the one place I really can't help you. Those things want to feast on me. Angels don't care for Reapers; they don't listen to us. They're Death's kids, and even I'll admit Deaths been around even longer then me. Death is inevitable, invincible. I can do a lot, kid, but I can't fuck with Death.”

“No,” Harry replied quietly, slowly. He twisted the ring on his finger, thumb brushing the little black stone. “No, you can't fuck with Death. You said the Dementors come right to you?” He asked, inspiration flaring up inside him.

“Yeah,” Gabriel agreed, patting his pockets. He slapped the front pocket of his shirt, obviously empty, before plucking a handful of candy-corn from inside. “It's my Grace, I think. That's pretty happy shit; I mean, it's the essence of God, pretty much. If they want to nom the happy, Grace is a good place to start.”

“So...you're pretty much the perfect bait,” Harry said, blinking at Gabriel. This could work...if both parties were willing. This could be beneficial for everyone.

The man in question paused, candy corn caught between his open fingers above his mouth. “Yeah, you could say that. I am a delicious little morsel, after all,” he said.

“Then I have a proposition.” Harry folded one hand into the other.

“Sorry Potter, I'm not that kind of girl,” Gabriel replied easily, but Harry could see the interest in his eyes. “Gonna have to buy me dinner at least.”

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. The instant camaraderie should have felt off; he wasn't one to make friends easy. But Gabriel was familiar. All romantic bullshit aside, Gabriel was a part of Harry. He was magic, the very thing that had kept Harry from losing his mind, that kept him safe, time and time again. Denying it was futile, Harry could feel it. He might not have trusted Gabriel yet, but he believed him. 

“You stay with us, help us gather up Dementors. With you around, it'll go a lot quicker. It'll also give me a chance to...to trust you. I want to help you, Gabriel, but Hermione is right. I don't know you and I don't trust you...enough. I need proof.”

“I can't give you proof,” the angel replied, shaking his head. “You kids these days; don't you realize that faith with proof isn't really faith at all. You're defeating the purpose, I'm appalled,” he popped another candy into his mouth. “Disgusted, really.”

Harry grinned, feeling some tension melt away. “I'm not asking for a grand gesture or whatever...just show me I can trust you. It works out for the both of us though, I mean. You said that you feel a right bit better up in my lot, so you should stick around anyway. All I'm asking is that you stick around and show me you're...worthy of my blood.”

“You really want to help me?” Gabriel asked, looking at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry realized it wasn't only a matter of him not trusting Gabriel; Gabriel had to trust him to. He was vulnerable, Harry realized. He knew what it felt like to be helpless. 

“I can prove it,” Harry said, summoning a small paring knife. He sliced a small line on the tip of his forefinger. “Have it. I am giving it to you insofar as I can. I don't know if it will work, but I'm not...I won't use my blood against you.” He reached over, smearing the blood across the back of Gabriels’ hand. 

Lifting his hand to his mouth, Gabriel licked it, a slow slide of a pink tongue peeking out between his lips to gather the smear of blood. He shook his head, and shrugged. “Nothing.”

Harry wished it would have worked; he wanted it to work. Mostly. But his blood was a touchy subject. 

“Hey,” Gabriel said suddenly, drawing Harry from his navel gazing. “I....er...appreciate the gesture,” he offered Harry, awkwardly. 

***  
Worthy; it wasn't a word he was regularly accustom to. Fact of the matter was, Gabriel was an ass-hole and generally not worthy of much. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands together. Two beers appeared on the table between them, wet with condensation. “I don't really have anything better to do. Can't exactly go anywhere on my own,” he said airily, grabbing a bottle. “Lets drink on it.”

The young man snorted. “What a way to make me feel special,” he said, taking the other bottle. “You sure do say the sweetest things.” He clanked the glass against Gabriel's, and took a deep drink. “Hermione's going to have kittens.”

“if she does, she'll have some explaining to do to the ginger,” Gabriel replied, grinning. This could work, he thought. He'd just have to...well, work on being earnest and trustful. He'd have to ask Cas about that; ernest was really his thing. “Shit,” he said suddenly. “My friends.”

“There were others?” Harry asked at once, sitting upright. “No one said---”

“My brother got them out in time, before the swarm hit,” Gabriel said, swearing quietly. He tried to find Castiel, tried to find their link, but couldn't. “Shit. They must be freaking out. Are we even anywhere near the warehouse?”

“Um,” Harry replied, his expression guilty. “We're in Moscow, I think. The house moves a lot, but last time I checked, we were in Moscow. Hermione would know.”

“Moscow,” Gabriel replied. “You can really do that?”

Harry grinned. “My own spell, took me ages to perfect. I have to actually own houses all over the world, but that's not the hard part. Took a bit of time sure, but over ten years I bought a ton of run down shacks. The main house is in England. The spell just transfers the inside, around. Makes us dead hard to follow, plus it's easier to travel when you can take your whole house.”

“Seems excessive,” Gabriel commented, internally beaming. He hadn't felt this proud since his daughter Herr was born. He was responsible for these...these Witches and Wizards....people tapping into his very own grace and doing impossible things. It was a rather heady and indulgent feeling; made him almost feel like his old self.

“Some people don't really like me,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “It's better that I don't linger.”

“And your friends?” Gabriel asked. It was obvious that they cared for Potter; the harpy know-it-all had proven as much, if in the most annoying way possible (by being an annoying harping know-it-all).

“They've given up a lot for me,” Harry said with a sigh. “This...excursion wasn't suppose to take so long. They work in shifts, tagging Dementor's with tracking charms for me to find and dispose of. What you saw was about half my team; the better half, I'll admit. Don't normally need as many; only Draco and Luna are with me full time. The rest are in for Mardi-Gras. We figured it would attract the Dementors. They're...they're better friends than anyone could ask for.”

“I don't even know how to get a hold of my brother and his band of happy humans,” Gabriel said, taking another drink. Castiel, he had no doubt, was freaking out. How the Winchesters felt about his inaccessibility was any ones guess. He supposed it could go either way and he'd deserve it. Eh.

“You don't have any funky angel mojo for that?” Harry asked, tipping his bottle towards Gabriel. “We do; you should.”

“My brother went etch-a-sketch on their insides, makes them impossible to trace,” he explained. “I'm not strong enough to find my brother, apparently. And no one can find me, I made sure of that a long time ago.”

“Seems excessive,” Harry replied in echo to Gabriel's earlier words.

Gabriel laughed, finishing off his beer. “Some people don't really like me,” he said in reply. It earned a smile from Harry.

“What about a phone? Do these blokes of yours have cell phones?” Harry asked, propping his elbows on the table. “There are muggle ways of tracking them.”

“None in any names that would matter,” Gabriel replied. “There's Bobby. I don't know his number, but I know where he lives. He'd be able to give the Winchesters a ring.”

“Lovely,” his Vessel said, pushing up out of his chair. “We can pop over there, I'll side-long Apparate you. We'll be back in a jiff.”

Gabriel blinked, then cringed. Nausea rolled in his stomach as he remembered his hit-and-miss trip with Castiel. “Ah, I'm guessing your Apparating is a bit like angel bamfing. That...did not go well, last time I tried it, and I'm...not in as peak physical condition, so to speak.”

“You said you felt better,” Harry replied, frowning.

“I do but I don't. My Grace feels better, but uh....” Earnestness, he reminded himself. Honesty and trust and all that rot. “I feel kind of weak,” he said at last. “Kind of achy, I guess. And my wings itch. I'm pretty sure if you try to pop me anywhere, I won't be able to hold them in and...well, if you like your eyeballs where they are, that’s something we should avoid.”

Instead of replying, his Vessel fished a small, silver lighter from his pocket. Flicking it open, Gabriel watched a tiny grean flame burst forth. “Hermione Granger,” Harry said firmly into it.

To Gabriels amusement, the tiny head of the harpy herself appeared in the flame. “Harry? Whats wrong? Do you need us to come back?”

“No, actually,” Harry said to the flame, giving the girl a fond expression. “I need you and Ron to make a trip for me.” His eyes snapped back to Gabriel. “Where did you say this Bobby Singer lived?”

“I didn't,” Gabriel replied, staring in fascination at the lighter, as Harry moved it close to him. “Souix Falls, South Dakota. You'll find him out by a auto shop called Singer Salvage. He'll ask you to drink something; it's holy water, just do it and he won't shoot you. Ask him to put you in touch with the Winchesters.”

“And then what?” The harpy asked darkly.

“Tell the Winchesters where to find us,” Harry said, watching Gabriel over the flame. “There should be another...Angel, with them. Castiel, right? He can bring the Winchesters here?”

“He can, but...well one of them isn't really kosher with Angel Air Ways,” Gabriel replied. “He has a concerning amount of concern for his car; it's actually a little sick. Anyway you can land us back in Kansas, Toto?” He asked, eying Harry.

“I have a house is Massachusetts,” Harry reasoned. “We can set base there, if that works.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Better than Moscow.”

Harry nodded, eyes flickering back to the green flame. “Alright, you got all that Hermes? Bobby Singer, Sioux Falls, Winchesters, Massachusetts base? You can Floo to the Massachusetts base.”

“And drive to South Dakota?”Hermione replied, skeptically. “That will take a week, at the least. What about Portkey?”

“Talk to Ginny, she's got the numbers, but I think we've already used up our allotment for the month and it'll take a week to register for more. It's up to you, though. Whatever way you wanna go.” Harry shrugged, thumbing the smooth silver metal of the lighter.

“Don't think I don't know why you're doing this, Harry Potter,” the girl screeched. “I'm pregnant, not delicate!”

Another head popped into the flames. “We're on it, mate,” the ginger said. “Don't listen to her, she needs the break. The bloke still there? Haven't said yes then, see, Hermione? He hasn't said yes, give Harry some credit---”

Harry laughed, flicking the lighter shut. “Mini-Floo, handy little thing. Bit like Muggle Cell-phones. The Twins actually helped develop it; word of the wise though, don't eat anything they give you. They specialize in tricks when it comes to treats.”

Gabriel laughed, feeling for a moment, as if maybe he wouldn't combust. “Well, I do love a trickster.” 

Not so long later found them in the living room, sprawled out across the old velveteen couches, beer in hand. “So,” Gabriel asked, eyes scatting across the wall of framed photo's, their inhabitants moving and waving freely behind tiny panes of glass. “What do you do on your day off then?”

Harry snorted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sleep. Wind-down, really. Constant contact with Dementors wears on you, you know? This hunt took a little longer than most, but the general rule is seven days on, three days off. But we're all on the ass end of two-weeks, no break, so we're staggering them with double length breaks. One partner out of each group at a time; I think Ginny, the red-haired girl, is on her break too, so she'll be popping back over to England.” He shrugged, kicking his shoes of before propping his feet on the battered coffee table. “We just have to bag the stragglers, since the brunt of the hunt is over with, so they'll all get to go home soon enough.”

“It's just you and the blondies that stick around, then?” Gabriel asked lazily, head tipped back on the couch. He didn't particularly care; really his whole interest was his Vessel, perhaps not even on a purely beneficial level. The kid was fascinating; the appropriate amount of cocky, jaded hard-ass to suit Gabriel perfectly. “Whats the story there?”

“Draco and Luna,” Harry replied. “Yeah, neither has much going on back in England. We...er. None of us have any family,” he explained awkwardly. “I mean, Molly Weasley, she's mom to that red-headed lot, she does good by us, but we're....our own family, in a way. We're all only children too, so...it's just us. Draco lost his parents to the War, but really he lost them long before that. Luna's parents were both dead before she finished school. We're our own little orphan club.”

“And they follow you all over the Earth hunting out Dementors,” Gabriel concluded, finishing off his beer, a heavy-on-the-hops Bavarian stout he was rather fond off. “What makes you so special, then? I mean, the others just tag the Dementors, right? But you do the dirty work?”

Harry snorted, shrugging. “Long story,” he said, and Gabriel watched him brush his thumb along the onyx tone of his ring. “There was Voldemort, the evil guy, and a prophecy, and the hero,” he sneered the word. “Fact of the matter is, Voldemort set his own fate when he chose me as his enemy because of he-said-she-said prophecy. If he'd let it go, he'd be alive and terrorizing today. But he didn't, and in the end I killed him, died in the process and got sent back.”

“Ah,” Gabriel replied, nodding sagely. “You'll fit right in with my crowed then. Resurrection is like a requirement.” And it was true; he, Cas, Dean and Sam had all died, only to return. Well, mind Gabriel was only pretending to be dead, but he like do think that such a convincing act held merit. “That still doesn't explain why you're so special. You know, other than being the destined Vessel of an Angel.”

“Yes because everyone wants to play pony to the Gods,” Potter replied, with a scoff. “I've been ridden before, and I didn't care for it. Possession really isn't my cup of tea.”

In reply, Gabriel shrugged, twisting the cap off another bottle. “It's a peculiar kink, I'll admit that. Anyway, you think you're cleverly steering me away from the subject, but your not. You're avoiding.” Avoidance just made Gabriel more intrigued; it was a bit like a dog with a bone.

Potter just laughed, and echoed his earlier words. “A man has to have his secrets.”

“Alright,” Gabriel conceded, if only for the moment. “If you won't tell me that, at least explain the horns.”

He watched as his Vessels eyes widened, smacking himself in the forehead in an effort to feel for the aforementioned horns. “How did...how?”

“I can see them,” Gabriel, letting himself relax into the plush velvet. “Just like I can see my scythe when others can't. That is my scythe you know. How did you even hear of it? It's not well known.”

“I didn't,” Potter admitted, with a grimace. “The uh...well, one of the other times I died...I um...ended up in purgatory. And I saw the snake, er. Your son. I did try to tell him I wasn't his father, but he uh...thought I was messing with him. Then he gave me the scythe and I woke up. It was actually one of my weirder deaths.” Harry's gaze fluttered downward to his own bottle where he traced his ginger around the amber mouth.

“You die a lot?” Gabriel asked, peering at him over the his bottle. “I'm not judging, of course. We all have our hobbies.”

Potter licked his bottom lip before pulling It between his teeth nervously. “It's...you know, I don't know why I'm so nervous about telling you,” he said with a sigh. “I mean...you're an angel, and probably less inclined to care. Mortality...probably means very little to you.”

“Less then it does to you, I'm sure,” Gabriel conceded. He'd been alive since the beginning of Time, and would, if he played his cards right, be around for the end of it. Mortality was for mortals.

Potter's laugh startled him. “You'd think,” he said, giving Gabriel a grin. “But uh...the thing is, I don't ever...stay dead. I suppose I could if I was inclined, but I'm not.”

“Is that a Wizard thing?” Gabriel asked, cocking his head to the side. He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibilities. Surely there would be repercussions in creation immortals; it skated a line to close to Nephilim. And hadn't that been a tragic and heart-breaking disaster?

“No,” Potter replied, looking awkward as he fidgeted. “It's a Harry thing. See...when I killed Voldermort, I became the uh...unlikely owner of this,” he pulled the ring off his finger, holding it up for Gabriel to see. The smooth silver and black stone caught the light from the candles, shining ominously.

Though he'd never admit it, Gabriel gasped. “You have the missing ring. You have the ring! What are you? A freaking hobbit? That's the ring to rule them all. Holy shit!” Gabriel laughed, clutching his stomach. The one ring they needed, and his Vessel had it all along.

Castiel was going to kill him.

“Wait,” Potter cut through his laughter, giving him a confused look. “I wasn't...I wasn't talking about the ring. I was talking about the stone. It's the Resurrection stone.”

“The what?” Gabriel asked, hiccuping on a laugh. “Wait what?”

Potter thumbed over the stone again. “The Resurrection stone. It brings back the dead. Not...Not that I do that!” He added hastily. “It's not even how I come back, I don't really do anything. I just...don't die all the way.”

“Potter,” Gabriel cut in, laying his hand over Harry's where the ring sat. “I don't know what your talking about, but this ring? Not the stone, but the ring. That's a horseman ring. That's Deaths ring.”

Potter gaped at him for a moment, green eyes wide, before he managed a crooked grin. “Well,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “Azrael did call me the Master of Death.”

“Hell,” Gabriel said with a sigh. “You got the ring, you got my scythe, you have horns. You're way cooler then I expected for a devout man. I thought I'd get stuck with another Jimmy Novack.”

“Another who?” Potter asked, slipping the ring back on his finger. “Hey...do you want your scythe back?” He asked, hesitantly.

“Nah,” Gabriel said, shrugging. He didn't need it. “It's for the Vessel anyway. Hey, you didn't answer my question,” Gabriel realized. The kid was good at distraction, that was for sure. “Where the hell do the horns play into all this?”

“No,” Potter said, turning to give him a lazy grin. “I didn't answer you, did I?”  
*

 

“I'm thirty-two bloody years old,” Harry slurred, raking a hand through his hair. “Haven't much to show for it, I suppose.” 

“Thirty-two?” Gabriel replied, looking at Harry over his bottle. “You're fucking with me. You don't look a day over seventeen.” 

“Well, I wouldn't, would I?” Harry replied, with a grin. “I was seventeen the first time I died. I've hardly aged since.” 

 

They continued on like that, drinking and talking, sharing increasingly bizarre and surprisingly true stories of there past over bottle after bottle, till the floor glittered with curved amber glass where they'd dropped there beers, too drunk to control even the most minimal of motor functions. They'd given up on the beer anyway after Potter had brought out a bottle of something that tasted a lot like ass and made him smoke at the ears. They lay in a drunken puppy pile on the couch, all sharp elbows and short legs.

“A'ways wondered what happened to Fluffy. I mean...you'd think summuna' mentioned it. What does one do with a three headed dog?”

“I gave birth to a horse,” Gabriel slurred in reply, stomach sloshing with enough liquor to shame even Castiel's worst of binges. “Fuck'er calls me Mom. Do these look like tits to you?” Gabriel asked grabbing Harry's hand and forcing it against his chest.

“Nope,” Harry said, mouth muffled against Gabriel's shoulder, arm heavy as it slid down his chest to his stomach.

Gabriel snorted. “M'really glad you're not a girl,” he said abruptly, head lolling onto Harry's, eyes fluttering to a close. “Who knows what would happen? I really like my dick. I've had it for years.”

Harry snorted, head knocking int Gabriel's nose. “Mmhm,” he mumbled, already drooling against Gabriel's shirt. “Dicks'r good. M'rather fond of em' myself.”

 

If Gabriel hated waking up, he hated waking up hungover more-so. Sure, he could snap himself dandy, but first he had to muster up the strength to lift his arm, and somethings are just easier said then done. He opened his eyes, groaning at the sudden onslaught of light as blue eyes peering down at him.

“Nnnrgh,” he said, with all the coherency he could muster. “Castiel, get off me.”

“My name is Luna,” a vaguely familiar, breathy voice said from above. “But I suppose you can call me Castiel if you wish. I've been called worse.”

Blinking open, Gabriel found himself face to face with a pale, wide-eyed girl, who was quite blithely, sitting on his chest. She was little, even smaller then him, bird-like and light. “Um.”

“Harry is very fond of you,” she said, with no segue.

He lifted his head up of the warm, scratch velvet of the couch cushion. “He doesn't know me.”

“He doesn't need to,” she replied, blue eyes searching. There was something too familiar in her unblinking, blank stare. Gabriel felt something warm and distinctly alive squirm beneath his legs

“Why are you on Gabriel, Luna?” Harry croaked from somewhere at the other end of the couch, as he failed to untangle his legs from Gabriels.

Gabriel flinched when a knee grazed across his goods, ball-sack crawling up inside him. “Watch the nut-bucket Potter!” He yelped, jostling Luna.

“Why is Gabriel on you?” She shrugged, settling herself in deeper where there knees bent. “You both looked so comfortable, I thought I'd join you,” she explained, shrugging her pale shoulders. Her eyes were on Gabriel as she spoke, and he could see the real reason behind them. She was dispelling the possibility for an awkward morning after. He gave her a saucy wink for her assumptions and wondered just how easy his Vessel was.

It certainly gave him something to think about. After all, there were a lot of ways to get inside of someone. Gabriel really wasn't in the position to get choosy.

 

****

Three days into his impromptu vacation at Grimauld, Gabriel's desire to get into Harry hadn't wavered. If anything, the time had only served to solidify his desire to take the more physical approach to entry. 

He'd been to nudist colonies, several actually; the point was, Gabriel was no stranger to hedonism. So yeah, he'd been to a fair few nudist colonies. Enough to know that Grimauld was in fact, not a nudist colony. 

Although the idea certainly had merit.

Which did not explain why Potter insisted on being practically naked, all the time. Not that he didn't appreciate it. He did, oh how he really, really did. Bit distracting really. Gabriel always did like distractions. 

As of current, Potter was stumbling his way half-blind through the kitchen, as faint hints of light peeked through the tiny windows of the basement kitchen. He was wearing little more than his underoos; a delightfully tacky pair of violent blue boxer shorts complete with a darling pattern of what Gabriel thought might be suggestively flesh-colored caterpillar.

Potter grunted, waving a sleep-limp hand at the cooker. Pots and pans began to bang as the tea-pot itself on the stove. “Why bother with the fuss? Just snap it up,” Gabriel commented as a sleepy Potter dropped himself in the chair directly next to him, and sprawled his upper limbs across the table. 

“M'magic makes it taste funny,” he mumbled into the bend of his arm. Gabriel heard him snort as Potter lifted his head. “Taste way to sweet. Funny that; it's probably your grace doing it.” 

“There is no such thing as way to sweet,” he replied succinctly, blithely licking his finger and dipping it into Potter's sugar bowl. The ceramic dish snapped at his hand and he glared at it as he worked to suck away the grainy white sugar from his fingers. A strangled squeak broke him away from his concentration. Potter was giving him another wide-eyed frantic look, cheeks bright, but eyes brighter. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Potter replied quickly, wiggling in his chair. 

“So,” Gabriel said after the pause had gone on to long, risking another dip in the sugar. The bowl hissed at him, spilling a tiny wave of sugar over it's side. “Nice boxers.” 

It startled a laugh out of his companion. “Yeah, my house-elf got them for me. He uh...likes to buy clothes, but he has no taste whatsoever.” 

“Is that what those things are that cook and clean for you?” Gabriel asked offhandedly, licking the web between his thumb and forefinger. “House-elves? Where'd yours get off to then?” 

“A very good question,” Potter blinked at him, looking more like an owl every minute as his green eyes grew. “Um. Uh...I'll be right back. I'll uh...just go see where they went. Or something.” 

Dipping his finger back into the bowl, which succeeded in biting him, Gabriel grabbed the tiny silver sugar serving spoon and popped it in his mouth, wondering in amusement what on earth had his vessel so flustered. 

**

Gabriel, Harry decided, had an oral fixation to rival all other oral fixations. The man simply could not be withoutsomething in his mouth. 

It was, he concluded, increasingly distracting. 

Case in point, he was currently mauling a Fortescue's Fridge-Ready No-Melt Malt with his tongue. And fingers. Harry couldn't really leave out the mention of fingers as they were taking an active role in the ice-cream consumption and the oral fixation. 

It was obscene. 

And yet, as the spoon was licked clean and the chocolate-smudged glass banished, Harry found himself sliding a pale Everlasting Lolly across the center couch cushion. Gabriel snatched it up like a viper, tearing off the crinkly casing and popping it into his smirking mouth without a thought. “Whats a Good-Luck Fuck Pop?” He asked, eyes narrowed at the torn wrapper. “And why are you giving me one?” 

Harry felt himself blush like he hadn't since first year, snatching the wrapper from Gabriel's hand. “Er...sorry. Wrong candy. That’s a bit of the Twins product. Meant to help you score, or so they say.” 

To his utter embarrassment, Gabriel tugged the sucker from between his lips with a wet pop, and grinned. “I did wonder why you were giving me dick-shaped candy.” He licked it, slowly, before popping it back into his mouth. 

Harry also concluded, after that incident, that he himself was a bit of a masochist. Feeling it was rather hot in the living room, he took his shirt off, and pretended Gabriel wasn't fellating candy beside him. 

It was rather harder...er. Rather more difficult than he had hoped.   
***

He wasn't sure how much was genuine (as genuine as Gabriel ever was) interest, and how much was a yearning to know his vessel, but Gabriel found himself curious. Curious about Potter's past and present, about his friends and his life and his thoughts. He just found himself wanting to know it all. He'd never felt so utterly non-self involved. 

And as he had also never been one to simply want for anything, he asked.

They were sprawled out across Potter's big, shamefully lush bed, eating carameled everything and creating a rather impressive mess of the linens. “So,” he said, stringing caramel between his fingers. “Tell me about you. What is the mystery behind Harry Potter? I'm afraid I've been remiss in my celestial body stalking. You'll have to catch me up to speed.” 

“You don't know?” Harry asked, with a tilted grin and a brow so arched Gabriel reveled in pride of what he decided was his most glorious creation (wizards in general, Potter particularly). “I'm the Boy Wonder. Savior,hero, destroyer of evil, bringer of light. Whatever fits the press on print day.”

He could see the faint traces of horns gracing Potter's forehead, but he was really just all more charming for it. Huh, Gabriel thought; he never imagined himself the type to fall for the bad boy. But, he supposed, he'd fallen for a lot less. Potter was special; Potter was his, even if he'd never have him. It was impossible for Gabriel not to...to feel. He was too immersed in the world. Where other Angels had the advantage of being cut off from   
the emotions of humans, Gabriel had been freely swimming in them for years. And now...now it had come back on him ten fold. He felt...oh, how he felt. 

But he set it aside, for now. For Potter. 

“Boy Wonder. What does that entail?” He wiped a line of caramel down the back of Potter's hand shamelessly, just to watch him lick it off. 

“You know,” Potter said, leaning down to lick the sauce off his hand without a thought. Easily lead, then, Gabriel thought, with a dirty smirk. “Typical hero junk; sacrifice, selflessness, a pretty face. The usual.” He gave Gabriel a blinding white grin, lips still wet with spit and caramel. 

“Awe,” Gabriel cooed, flicking nuts out of the bowl of trail mix, the pesky things. “Look at you being all modest and shit. No, really. Tell me; what did you do?” 

“Vanquished the Dark Lord,” Potter acceded, banishing the peanuts as he tossed them out of the bowl and onto the bed with no shame. “It was really just a lot of hype, you know? There was a prophecy, and it went south; some guy got it into his head that a baby might best him. So...he did what any megalomaniac power-hungry nutbag does and tried to off the baby. 

Didn't manage it, but his effort wasn't in vain. Sixteen years later I'm face to face with the bastard who killed my parents and really...I'm just a kid. And...I don't want to kill him. I mean sure...I want him dead. My hate when that far but...I couldn't kill him. I was just so damn tired by then...tired of fighting and watching my friends die so I went for it, knowing that I couldn't do it, knowing that he'd kill me. I had to try.” 

Potter took a deep breath, lashes fluttering to a close as he pillowed his head in his arms and spoke. “He killed me, and in doing so he left himself open for death. He was weak by then, he'd torn his soul to pieces, and I...I just wanted it over. I remember that...standing in a sea of survivors and just wanting it to be over. 

And then it was. And I was the Boy Wonder, and that...that sold the papers for a while but then the speculation started. I mean, happy-go-lucky only sells so much. It's the knitty-gritty fear inspiring articles that really sell.” 

Gabriel nodded, understanding where the story lead. “And then you left?” 

“Traveled mostly. I settled down for a bit.” Harry spoke softly, rolling onto his back to look up at Gabriel. He really was very pretty,Gabriel had to admit. There was a lot of Gabriel in him, or perhaps a lot of him in Gabriel, but Potter certainly wore it better. Or maybe Gabriel was just vain? A certain possibility

“But...I couldn't stand the...the quiet, I suppose. I guess I've been living in the chase for so long, I don't really know how to handle anything else. Part of it I suppose is knowing that I can do something; if I didn't, I'd feel guilty. I have all this...raw power...and there is so much good to be done for it. Dementors...well...they're the Darkest things outside of Voldermort I ever had the joy of meeting. Wasn't that big a leap of logic to start there.” 

“And when the Dementors are gone?” Gabriel asked, eyes skating across the line of soft hair trailing down at Potters navel. “What's next on the Hit List?” 

“Don't know,” Potter replied with a shuffling shrug of his shoulders. He balanced a bowl of 

marshmallows on his stomach. “Voldermort was just one rung in the latter. There's always evil in the world.” 

“It makes me kind of sick to know that I created him,” Gabriel admitted after a fashion. The vomit of honesty made him squirm where he sat.

Regret, Gabriel would admit, was not an emotion he was most comfortable or familiar with. He didn't care for it. He'd done many bad things in his life, shameful things, but none till now could he truly regret. He'd created evil even though he had assured the Winchesters that it was hardly possible; what his Father must think of him. 

Potter propped himself up on his elbows abruptly, knocking marshmallows across the bed. “No,” he said firmly, staring up at Gabriel. His hand gripped Gabriel's thigh, just above the knee in a show of gravity. “You did not create him as he was. You gave us....you gave us a gift. We decide how we use it. That’s not on you Gabriel.”

“Well alright then,” Gabriel agreed good naturedly, though he was more choked up by Potters earnestly than he cared to admit. “Pass me an Oreo,” he demanded, holding out his hand expectantly. Potter twisted to snag a cookie from the bowl opposite his stomach, squeezing Gabriel's hand as he handed it over. 

“What about you?” He asked, falling back onto the fluffy mattress. “Whats your story. I get that you're not standard halo-and-harp, right? You're...rogue, or whatever.” 

“I prefer to consider myself self-dispatched,” Gabriel replied with mock haughtiness. “I didn't like how things were going down up there. Dad had...well. Since Samael, uh Lucifer flew the coop so to speak, Dad wasn't himself. He mourned the loss of his son like any father would I suppose. But he never really stopped mourning. ” He didn't like to think about it, that his Dad had abandoned them. But Potter had asked and Gabriel...well for all that he was asking of Potter, he wasn't one to deny him this. “He...left. Without a word. And Heaven has been in chaos since. There's no way to...to know that the chain of command hasn't been compromised. The Angels up there...they think they're tough shit because they've been running the world for so long but they've got no clue what to do, no more than the rest of us. I...wanted to do as my Father asked but not like that, so I dropped anchor and sank to Earth. Took me a while to get my bearings but I made a lucrative deal with a god named   
Loki. He'd been around a long while and wanted a break so he gave me his name and I became him while he became no one. And...that worked for me for a long time.” 

“And then it didn't?” Potter asked biting into a marshmallow. Gabriel watched as his teeth sank into the pillowy confection, tearing it away with a kind of slow motion feralness that should have not been so...enticing. 

“Then it didn't,” Gabriel confirmed. “The war hit it's peak and just when I had thought I'd lost all my faith in my brothers, one found me. Not one that I had known when I was in Heaven, Castiel is much younger then me, but....as an angel...you know your brothers. All of them, whether you have met them or not. Castiel woke me up, showed me I was still an angel and that I could help. He rebelled, just like I did, but he didn't....” Gabriel swallowed, choking on the truth. “He didn't hide like I did. He...took on Heaven, took on Hell. And won.” 

“You're very proud of him,” Potter said softly, and Gabriel looked at him. 

“He's everything an Angel should be,” Gabriel said. “A little uptight, totally earnest, regularly aloof. But good. So good.” 

“Well,” Potter said at length. “From the sounds of it, you're not so bad yourself.” 

****

Harry felt weird. Since he'd woken up that morning, beside a softly snoring Gabriel, he'd just felt weird. Off, maybe. Might have been the sugar. 

Looking at Gabriel, who was steadily working his way through a very large bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans (that Harry had absolutely not ordered especially for him, except for the part where he totally did) made his stomach clench. 

Gabriel caught him looking and flashed him a grin while biting into a bright pink bean. For all that he knew that Gabriel wasn't (they'd shared many stories the night before boy light and dark), the angel just looked so innocent as he sifted through the massive bag of candy, a look of unadulterated delight upon his face. He blinked away the sudden rush of vertigo, a horrible thoughtforming in his mind. 

He wasn't pure or good or light; the war and Voldemort had saw to that. His innumerable deaths had saw to that. His demolition of Dementors had saw to that. While he wasn't particularly evil, he was dark. The two, he had long since learned, did not go hand in hand. The war, Voldemort and Death had left a stain upon him that would never fade. 

What if he was too for Gabriel....what if that shining light behind his Angels eyes   
too much for his darkness to handle. It wasn't so absurd, he rationalized. He'd long since found that patronuses, other than his own of course, made him feel nauseous. 

What if...what if he couldn’t help Gabriel?

 

“Luna,” he said later on, cornering the willowy girl in a large hall closet. Gabriel was upstairs molesting a particularly recalcitrant nightstand by pelting it with balled up mismatched socks he'd nicked from Dobby's personal stash. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Will we be coming out of the closet together?” She asked, and he blushed. “Although this particular closet is quite lovely.” 

“Screw the closet, Luna. I think I'm sick,” he said in an urgent whisper, pushing aside a charmed mink coat that was attempting feebly to cuddle the left side of his face. “I feel...off.” 

“You do look rather flush,” she conceded,pressing the back of her palm to his fore head. “There is a terrible case of Narglian Flu going around. Perhaps you've caught it.” 

“No, no,” he grumbled, waving her hand off. “I just...could I be allergic to Gabriel? I just...every time I look at him, I feel...weird.”

Her grin was clear in the dark and he supposed that did not bode well. “Weird how? Like...you just notice something wriggling in your spaghetti when you've already finished half the plate, or weird like there's something fluttering in your stomach and your heart is stuck in your throat?” 

“Um...the second one,” Harry confirmed. The first one...ugh. He really did wonder where Luna came up with her comparisons. “And sometimes when I look at him I feel really dizzy. I just...I have to sit down. Do you think...do you think it's like the patronuses?” She knew about them of course; it had been she who realized what was making Harry so ill then. 

Cocking her head to the side and ignoring the coat as it latched onto her limp curls, she gave him a Look that made him shiver. “Are you anxious around him? Nervous? Do you feel like you can't sit still? Jump at every sound?” 

“I can't help it,” he said mournfully, already accepting his diagnoses. “Oh God, he is making me sick. We can't tell him, he'd leave.” 

If anything, to his bewilderment, Luna's grin grew wider. “You'd suffer for him? To keep him with you?” She asked, her voice breathy as ever but filled with much less aloofness. 

“I...he needs me,” Harry argued. “He says he feels better, even without the blood. I can't send him away just because he makes me sick.” Really, he could live with it. There were potions and such and...and even though he made Harry's stomach turned he also   
made him so...so...so fucking happy. Gabriel was as Harry wished he could be; carefree and light for all his troubles. 

It made Harry want more, want better, want...something.

“Ooooh,” she said, wondrously, eyes wide and blue. “You are sick!” Luna breathed through her smile as Harry's the bottom of Harry's stomach fell out, allowing his heart to sink to his feet. “Love sick.” 

Wait...what?

“Wait,” Harry found his mouth echoing his mind. “What?” 

“Harry Potter,” she addressed him as she had in the early days when she hadn't quite realized they were friends. “You're in love with him.” 

“I...I don't know him,” Harry argued, feeling his stomach flop at the notion. Oh no. 

“Of course you do!” She exclaimed. “You know Gabriel as well as you know your own magic. The man inside you, Harry Potter. He is you. He was made for you.” 

“I was made for him,” Harry corrected instantly, heart beating in his chest. Oh God. 

She gave him a Look, deep blue and penetrating. “Are you so sure?” 

Harry watched as Gabriel sprawled languidly on his stomach, across the bed, with little regard. “Back to work, then?” He asked, watching Harry pack his traveling bag. He sounded about as excited as Harry felt, which was to say, not at all. 

“Back to the grindstone,” Harry confirmed with a grimace. “I have to leave in like an hour, but I'll be back in a few days. Hermione Floo'd; your friends will be here in a day or so.” He had a feeling the dementors would be hitting him harder then usual; he was in just too good a mood. He hadn't actively made a friend in years, let what...whatever Gabriel was. Gabriel was sort of refreshing in a way.

He supposed it was kismet; they were the same in so many ways. Not just similar, but the same. He found himself breathing in tandem with Gabriel. They mirrored each other with everything; walking, talking, speaking, what shoe they put on first. If Harry had doubted Gabriel's claim, he'd be hesitant to do so now. He felt like he was made for Gabriel; and it   
was a strange thing, to know you could fit so perfectly with another. It wasn't a surprise that it left Harry curious;the sexual tension alone was enough to get off on. 

Harry wasn't sure what to think of it.

He'd never been in love before. He turned away, less Gabriel see it on his face. 

“They're in your wardrobe,” Gabriel commented randomly, adding a yellow square to the pile of star-burst wrappers decorating his own bed. He made a note to introduce Gabriel to Honey Dukes; he had a feeling the angel would like Wizard chocolate. After all, it was made of his Grace. It was, in a sense, Gabriels’ chocolate. 

Opening the wardrobe, sure enough, there were his misplaced gloves. “Oh, thanks,” he replied,frowning. He hadn't said what he was looking for, and yet Gabriel had known. Gabriel always knew. He knew when Harry was hungry, tired, maudlin, irritated. Hell, he knew when Harry had to pee. He knew where he was going before he even got there. Gabriel just knew; he breathed Harry just like Harry breathed him. 

“How do you do that?” Harry asked in abrupt exasperation, sliding his hand into the dragon-hide gloves, fingers peeking out bare at the tips. 

“How do I do what?” Gabriel asked, not looking at him as he peeled another Starburst. He seemed fond of the yellow, Harry noticed, as there appeared to be less and less of any other color.

He slid on his other glove, pulling the it high to the elbow, and bending at the wrist to give the dragonhide a good stretch. “Know. How do you know? You always know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling...what I want,” Harry said, breath catching on the last word. He wondered if Gabriel really knew what he wanted. He barely knew himself. “It's like you're in my head...I don't get it.” 

Looking up from his candy, Gabriel studied him, head cocked, gold eye-narrowed. “If you think about it,” he said slowly, banishing the candy away and slinking his way to the end of the bed on his belly, “thats exactly where I'm suppose to be.” He looked up at Harry, there distance seeming much less now than it had when Gabriel was preoccupied with his candy; in truth, there was little more than three feet between them. 

“You're made for me. I know your body like you know your own skin,” he explained, eye's never wavering from Harry's. “I know you...because you're mine. You're your own man, Harry Potter, but your flesh is mine, has been mine since Creation of Humans. Your name is mine, your blood is mine, your body is mine.” The gold eyes glittered, the hint of power flashing behind them. The shadows were back too, the flair of dark shadows painted across the walls of the room, massive out-stretched wings too big to fit the room. He felt himself shiver, and turned his gaze back to the wardrobe. Something had changed, he thought, in that one tiny moment. It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, leaving it hot and stagnant. 

“But you don't want...that,” me, his mind supplied and he winced. It hurt, crushed him really, that Gabriel didn't. It shouldn’t have, Harry was fond of his body after all, but it left an ache in his belly, new and strange. “I mean....” 

In a flash, Gabriel was up, pressing him against the open wardrobe. Harry fell back, sitting in the tiny wardrobe cupboard as Gabriel loomed over him, arms caging him in. “You think I don't wonder,” he said, mouth inches from Harry's own, “what it would be like...to get inside you? Because I wonder, little demon...I'd be crazy not to. Sometimes,” he murmured, eyes skating across Harry's face. “Sometimes it's all I can think about.”

His breath smelled like candy, Harry noted a little randomly, and there were things lurking behind his eyes, things he couldn’t name. Old things, Harry was sure; the tiny light of God himself, the backing power of the angel before him. His breath caught as there chests touched; they were so close he could feel the impermeable heat radiating off his angel. His angel. 

“There are,” Harry began, voice thick. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin just so, lashes fluttering. “Thereare a lot of ways to get inside someone,” he choked out, hands raising to settle on Gabriel's narrow hips. 

With a hand on his chest, Gabriel pressed him back till his shoulder-blades were snug against the backof the wardrobe, navy blue dress robes hanging on their right, and his leather-coat, slick and shiny, on their left. 

He was still too-close, candy-breath fanning Harry's face as a smile split his mouth. “Are you propositioning me,Potter?” He asked, pushing himself between Harry's thighs till their hips met. “Could be a sin, you know. I am an angel.” 

Harry gasped, fingers clenching on the hips he held. “I...um,” he offered stupidly, the inexplicable sound of Professor Snape flaring in his mind 'eloquent as always, eh Potter?'. “I...does it have to be blood?” He said abruptly, eyes wide. Whatever Gabriel was doing, it made Harry feel like he was flying, except with a distinct lack of control. “I mean...there are...um. There are a lot of other fluids I'd probably be way more willing to offer. Um...or does it have to be blood?”

Gabriel licked his lips and grinned, hand leaving the back of the wardrobe to cup the nape of Harry's neck, thumb brushing into his hair. “I can't say that I know,” he said lightly, a smug-looking grin slapped across his mischievous face. “What bodily fluids did you have in mind? I'm going to be completely honest and say there are a few I can't say I'd be open to.” 

Harry felt his own tongue reply, echoing Gabriel like a yawn as he licked his own dry lips. “I...I... spit?” They were of equal height, but Gabriel would always seem bigger. “I mean...couldn't....it couldn't hurt to try, right?” 

Gabriel was still smirking, mouth so close to Harry's he could almost feel the smile on his skin. “For science?” 

“Among other things,” Harry let his hand slip boldly up the back of Gabriel's shirt. “I mean I've alwa---mmph.” 

It didn't take much to turn their taunting to kissing, as they'd long since closed the distance between them to little more than a hair's breadth. It was as tentative as possible in the heat of the moment, at first little more than a dry press of lips, but they were both obold to remain stoic. Gabriel licked his way into Harry's mouth,nipping at his lip and Harry let him. 

Gabriel might have smelled like sugar, but he tasted like sunshine. They kissed, somewhat frantically, ands grasping and tugging as Gabriel pressed more firmly against him. Harry's hands scraped at his back, scoring pale pink lines in his impermeable skin, and Gabriel shivered, gasping against his mouth.

Every scratch Harry made caused the angel to arch into him, shuddering and shaking as his kisses deepened till he was lickingHarry's molars. 

“Do you know what you're doing to me?”Gabriel murmured, mouthing down Harry's stubble-rough jaw. 

It took a moment for him to process the question, only then did he realize what he was doing. Grinding; he was grinding against Gabriel, one leg hooked over his hip, in a desperate plea to keep him in place. Gabriel'ships were no less active, pushing against him in tandem. “Oh go---” 

Gabriel kissed him quickly, through another smirk. 

“You can call out any name but that one, Potter,” he growled, nipping at Harry's ear. “Nothing kills themood like thinking about your dad.” 

“S-s-sorry,” Harry gasped, feeling the slow slide of Gabriel's cock against his own through too much denim. He clung to him now, hand cupped over his shoulder blade, nails biting into his flesh. “Oh, don't stop.” 

Gabriel hissed, back curving into a harsh arch. “Fuck,” he gasped, and Harry felt something flutter against his palm, trapped beneath the surface of Gabriel's skin. 

“I can feel your wings beneath your skin. They're warm,” he groaned, as Gabriel kicked his legs further apart. He was bent awkwardly in the wardrobe still, one leg propped on a low drawer, and the other dangling freely. Gabriel had one hand propped on the back for leverage, the other still cupped around Harry's neck as he nipped at his jaw. 

“No one's ever touched me there,” Gabriel admitted, licking his throat. “They like you,” he breathed, so Harry pressed more firmly, drawing his hand down Gabriel's spine. “Oooh, fuck, fuck, yes.” 

Suddenly, Harry desperately wanted to see them, run his fingers through the feathers, if there were feathers. He wanted Gabriel naked, wanted to see his skin, see the golden glow in it's entirety. “Spits not working,” he breathed, licking Gabriel's lips. “Is it?” 

“What?” Gabriel asked, seemingly preoccupied with turning Harry into a mess. 

“Spit,” Harry hissed when Gabriel bit into his shoulder. “Um....I think...I think we should fuck. Come...semen, that, oh fuck don't stop, ahhh! Semen might work!” He felt the button of his jeans come undone,though Gabriel's hands were quite preoccupied. Whoever’s magic was responsible, Harry or Gabriel, he couldn’t tell. “Fuck...fuck. Gabriel.” 

“M'not a bottom,” Gabriel panted, hand sliding down beneath Harry's arse, pulling Harry against him. “I'm not sure you could top me.” 

“You could...oh yeah, fuck! You could blow me!” He cried out, lacing his fingers into Gabriel's hair and pulling hard. “You could suck me off. Swa-oh! Swallow.” He squirmed at the thought, groaning when Gabriel dropped to his knees. He hadn't really meant it as more than an offhand suggestion except the part where he did mean it. He really, really did.

“I suppose I could,” Gabriel replied, and Harry could hear the stupid smug smile in his voice. Gabriel's fingers slipped into the waist of his jeans and boxers, tugging them to his knees with impatient force. He felt his cock slap his stomach and blushed as Gabriel starred with unabashed interest, gold eyes alight with fire. A nervous giggle escaped him. He couldn't help it; he was shoved inside his wardrobe, cock exposed to an Angel   
of the freaking Lord, who was eyeing his cock like it was the last Butterfingers on earth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four weeks topside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty bloody, as a warning.

Gabriel got around. That is to say, he knew his way around a body. But nothing, in all his laundry list of seductive sins, had he found anyone quite like Potter.

 

Potter's body responded as his own did; it felt like he was touching himself. He hadn't realized they'd become so in tune with each other, so perfectly aligned.

 

He had the young man shoved into his own closet, legs spread wide, lungs gasping. He knew he could do anything to Potter right now, make him give up anything freely with the right touch. But all Gabriel really wanted in that strange, very mortal moment of coupling lust was to get his mouth on Harry Potter.

 

So he did.

 

Which brings us back to point a. Gabriel got around. That is to say, Gabriel was for all purposes of the word, a bit of a slut. Potter was well enough endowed to pose a challenge but not a threat, and he took him in between his thin lips inch by inch. The head of Potters cock scraped across the roof of his mouth before fitting itself snugly into the back of his throat. He took in the last remaining inch or so and swallowed, humming as Potter ripped at his hair.

 

“Bloody buggering hell!” Potter groaned,thighs slamming shut around Gabriels head. “Oh hell, oh Merlin, oh fuck fuck fuck.” Gaining purchase on the half opened drawer of the wardrobe, Potter thrust upward sharply, legs trembling.

 

The trimmed patch of dark curls surrounding the base of his cock suddenly scratched against Gabriels nose as Potter fucked into his mouth with pained little whimpers. He let him do it. Hell, he encouraged it, slipping his hands up under Potters pert little ass and urging him on till the man was so deeply buried in Gabriel's mouth he'd probably come directly into his stomach when he shot his load.

Let it never be said Gabriel wasn’t a giver.

 

He hummed around Potters cock, swallowing without the need to breath. He let go of Potter's ass, to tug at the tightly drawn ball, sticky-wet like his chin, with candy-flavored spit. His own neglected cock hanged hard and heavy between his legs, trapped in the thin fabric of his shorts.

 

Oh the joys of a human body, he thought idly as Potter hissed, nails scraping across Gabriels scalp. He felt the balls in his hand draw up further,and that,if nothing else to was signal enough to warm him.

 

He wasn't fond of the taste of come, not that it mattered, because as he suspected, Potter shot straight down his throat. It had, as he expected it wouldn't, no effect on his Grace, but that didn't mean he wasn't motivated to keep trying. He eased off his Vessels dick, resting his head against Potters hip bone. Only to be pushed back, rather abruptly.

 

The boy apparently had an exceptional recovery time. Gabriel tumbled backwards, landing ungracefully on his ass. “Up, up!” Potter hissed roughly, urging him onto his feet. He kissed him roughly, leading Gabriel in a backwards walk to the bed.”On your back.”

 

Wait what?

 

“I was under the impression that I already established,firmly I might add, that I am not a bottom,” Gabriel said, propped against the mattress. Harry was standing between his legs, knees bent against the bed, one hand dipping into the waistband of Gabriels shorts. He felt the fabric vanish from his skin, the ancient, fragmented bit of Grace in Harry's magic shivering against his skin. “It's nothing personal,” Gabriel said, head falling back.

 

“I don't want to fuck you,” Harry breathed, and then grinned. “Well, thats a lie. But I don't want to fuck you right now. Roll over.”

 

He pulled Gabriel to the edge of the bed and coaxed him rather roughly onto his belly. Harry’s knees hit the unforgiving floor, and he gasped as a hot, sweaty palm was pressed firmly between Gabriel's shoulder blades. “Oh.”

 

Nails scraped down his spine, raising a trail of faint scratches. Dropping his his forehead to the mattress, he groaned as Potter licked his way back up the pale pink welts, tongue warm against his skin. A hand curled over and around his sides, following the line of his hips and sharp jutting pelvic bone until it was wrapped firmly around his aching cock.

 

He could feel it in his wings, that seductive touch, sending sparks up his spine so intense he found himself biting into his lip to keep from screaming in his real voice. He could feel Potters magic, grace-tainted and hot, sinking into his skin, into him until it touched things long forgotten.

 

His magic was inside of him. Potter was inside of him.  

 

That wasn't how this worked.

 

Gabriel found that didn't care.

 

His hip was cupped in a possessive palm, nails carving crescent moons into Gabriels soft flesh. The hand on his cock worked him slow, agonizingly slow as Potter drew out his torture, waging a war on Gabriels body.

 

“You taste like sunshine,” Potter commented, mouth moving along the raised knobs of his spine as he spoke.

 

“All the easier to ba-ah! Bask in my glory,” Gabriel managed to stammer out, his usual tone of amusement falling away as his voice broke.

 

Chuckling darkly, Potter's hand clenched around him, thumb swiping over the head. “Show me then,” he said quietly, playfully, nipping at Gabriels back,” you in all your glory.” He finished his whispered words by sinking his teeth ruthlessly into the bottom point of Gabriels left shoulder blade.

 

Gabriel came.

 

His orgasm came without any sort of usual warning. He'd been close of course, but not that close. And yet, he came, and came, and came, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he bit his own lip to keep from screaming.

 

Even so, he whimpered, and just that murmur of his real voice was enough to crack the ceiling overhead. Potter had gathered him up, pressing Gabriel's back to his chest as he worked him through every delicious spasm, thin pearly liquid spraying across the navy blue bedspread.

 

“You're glowing,” Potter whispered against his ear.

 

He opened his eyes, and sure enough he was, a soft white light emanating from nowhere and everywhere at once. On the wall adjacent to them, he could see the shadowed forms of his wings, stretched across the striped wallpaper and beyond the line of their peripheral vision, as if wrapping around them in the room.

 

“I've never seen anything like it,” Potter breathed, dropping his chin on Gabriels shoulder. They were still kneeling, back-to-chest on the floor. Gabriel's held himself up just barely, palms splayed across the mattress as he let his head tip to the side against Potter's in an unconsciously comfortable display.

 

“It's just the shadows,” Gabriel said after a long while, eyes tracing the lines the shadows of his wings made. “They're even bigger in person.”

 

Nudging him, Potter urged him into a kiss, sweet and post-coital slow. He sighed, warm breath brushing across Gabriels mouth, tasting of sated joy and regret. “You have to go,” Gabriel commented, and Potter nodded unhappily.

 

“Now I really don't want to,” he said with a sigh, pushing himself up gracelessly and flopping onto the bed. Gabriel crawled up beside him, sprawling out on his belly. “So, semen didn't work?”

 

“No, but it was worth a try,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Maybe even bears repeating.”

 

“I'll miss you.”

 

“You'll be gone three days,” Gabriel snorted. “I won't go anywhere.”

 

“Pff,” Potter said, rolling on his side to press against Gabriel. His cock was half-hard already, he noted, but Potter didn't seem to mind it. “Where would you go? What on Earth could possibly be better than me, my bed and,” he paused, hand riffling under the left pillow, where he extracted a half eaten bit of Wizard chocolate Gabriel had become violently addicted to, “chocolate?”

 

Pausing, Gabriel almost found himself frowning. Potter posed a very good question, if not a perplexing one. Gabriel had never been particularly effusive, so he blamed any and all emotions flittering through him at that moment on post-orgasm brain and asked himself the very same question.

 

What could be better then this?

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Lets try again,”Potter said, pushing himself up into an awkward sitting position.

 

“You're good but you're not that good,” Gabriel said, looking back at Potters spent cock. “Although I suspect there's a spell or something for that.”

 

“There is but it makes your balls itch. Anyway, that wasn't what I was talking about,” Potter replied, rustling through his night-stand drawer. He pulled out a mangled looking saftey pin. “Lets try again.”

 

Oh.

Oh.

 

Potter poked his pointer finger and slid it between Gabriels lips without so much as a by-your leave.

 

Silence echoed for a moment, and they both felt the tension set when nothing happened. “But I want you to have it,” Potter breathed. “You have to believe me. I...it isn't you. It's me and my issues. I don't want you to...I really thought...”

 

“Hey,” Gabriel said at once. “Shut up. Don't worry. I feel okay and you know, we'll keep trying or whatever. I like the semen idea. I think it bears repeating.

 

It earned a laugh out of Potter who leaned into him. “Shut up,” he said with a happy sigh. Gabriel knew he'd be leaving, so he let himself enjoy the moment in silence.

  
  
  


The arrival of the Winchesters was not without fanfare, though Gabriel hadn't been expecting anything else.

 

It began with a blur of blonde, streaking past him through the kitchen, the cool minty scent of Luna trailing the way to the door. Gabriel followed leisurely behind, amusement perking.

 

“Dude!” Dean Winchesters voice carried across the small front yard, and through the wards, his disgruntled outrage audible. “Get your witch off our angel!”

 

His gruff tones were followed by the screechy harping of none other than Hermione Granger. “Bloody hell, Luna, get off the poor man! For Merlin's sake, you're frightening him!”

 

“He’s kind of have that expression he made when I took him to that brothel,” Dean cut in, just as Gabriel was pushing open the door.

 

Sam boggled, eyes snapping to Dean. “You took an Angel to a whore house!?”

 

Blinking, Dean gave his brother a blank, confused look. “I didn't want him to die a virgin.” Winchester-logic, at it's best.

 

“Hello Sam, Dean...Castiel,” Luna said with her typical misty, breathless tone. “I've been waiting for you.” Though the comment was issued broadly, it was easy to see who exactly she meant.

 

Castiel was flat on his back, flared trench coat bunched in his fists as he struggled with where to put his hands. His mouth was open, a faint peek of immaculate white teeth and pink tongue exposed as he breathed in sharp, frightened pants. Luna was perched back on her heels, seated firmly on his stomach, both hands splayed across his chest as if she had pounced on him. Gabriel figured she probably did, given the Winchesters uproar. Her dress was hiked up around her thighs, and she was barefoot, grass peeking up between her toes; each toenail was painted a different neon color. Her hair was wild, spilling over her shoulders in broken wavy curls, so long and unruly it painted white-blonde streaks across Castiel's chest and neck. She was, well and truly, a wild thing, appearing even more wild set against his brothers immaculate self containment.

 

“Luna---”

 

“Hush” Gabriel cut in, waving an ever flippant hand at Granger. Neither Luna nor Castiel looked up from there places, seeming to be frozen in their own world on the front lawn. “Back away slowly. We're not going to want to stick around for what comes next I'm sure. From what I've learned, your Luna can be fairly single minded.”

 

“You know,” Potter's blond man-friend said from the doorway, “Lovegood mentioned making new friends, from low places and high places. Two low, two high. Angels and...whatever it is you Muggles do. That would be you for then?”

 

“Good Merlin,” Granger said suddenly, staring at the pair in wide-eyed horror. “Luna's been going on and on about a blue eyed man. Said he was her....” She looked away, cheeks flushed as the first and second button of Castiels pale blue shirt undid itself. Castiel himself squeaked, eyes going impossibly wider, but Luna only smiled, her hands still planted firmly on his chest.

 

“What comes next...” Sam began, mouth falling open. “What the hell is this? A mating ritual?”

 

“More like foreplay, in the form of the most epic staring contest ever. Who do you think will blink first? My bet is on Cas,” Gabriel said with a grin. “I wonder if it'll end up in the Winchester Gospels?”

 

Granger took it upon herself to urge them back into the house, though Gabriel caught her peeking back over her shoulder, only to squeak and blush, slamming the front door behind her. It was a good thing that the current location of Grimwauld was fairly isolated, for any possible neighbors would be getting quite the show if Luna's look of determination was anything to go by.

 

It took the better part of the evening to explain everything. They took it admirably; after the almost-apocalypse, little could surprise them.

 

“So, magic is real and it's all you and your freaky angel wish-ball's fault?” Dean said, scratching the two-day stubble on his chin. “Eh. Could have been worse. You could have been responsible for televangelists.”

 

“Who's to say I'm not?” Gabriel replied with a lazy grin. The only thing that could make the night better were if Potter were there. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked the Winchesters. He, Castiel, Sam and Dean made up a very strange family. It was a testament to that very statement that Gabriel had come to them when in need. He wasn't sure he could leave Potter, especially before his grace was repaired, but he wasn't really ready to see the back end of the Winchesters yet, either. So really, it served him just fine that they should be here, mingled among his witches and wizards.

 

“Good, your friends are here,” Potter said, suddenly beside him, as if manifested by his yearning thoughts alone. It hadn't surprised Gabriel, who had felt him before he appeared, but the same could not be said for Sam and Dean.

 

They both drew their guns on instinct, but it was Dean who fired, Dean who had always had a hair-trigger, sinking a bullet straight into Potters head.

 

And then, chaos.

 

Wands were drawn, and curses flew, and Gabriel was at Potters side in an instant, feeling more useless in that moment then he ever had. He pushed at his grace, begging it to do something. His palm was hot where he held it against Potters head, but nothing happened. He was useless here, utterly useless, couldn't even heal a bullet wound......He was going to kill Dean Winchester. Screw grace, he was going to strangle him.

 

“Shit!” Dean hissed, eyes wide as he watched Potter crumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table as he went. Gabriel felt his heart sink to his stomach as he turned golden angry eyes to Dean Winchester. All the fluffy feelings of camaraderie were gone in an instant. “Oh fuck,” Dean whispered, obviously horrified. “I...I just...I mean, he came out of no where! You know I can't control it...it's a reflex.”

 

“I'd have a hell of a lot less work to do if my guys had reflexes like you,” Potter grumbled to the floor, and he was there in a flash, helping him up. His face was bloody, but the wound was gone, leaving nothing but fresh pale skin in it's place. “Good aim too.” He turned to Gabriel, green eyes bright with amusement. “You were worried.”

 

“I thought you were dead,” Gabriel replied with whip-quick humor.“It's a good thing your not, I suppose. I wasn't looking forward to killing Dean. I mean, you kill one Winchester, you have to kill them all, or they just keep coming back, like weeds or outside-cats, and I rather like Sam.”

 

Potter let him have his fun, let him hide the last fading tendrils of absolute fear behind laughs. “I told you, I won't die untilI'm ready. Bit convenient, that.”

 

“Wow,” Dean said, breaking the silence. Grange was still glaring at him, subtly restrained by her ginger husband. “Is that like a wizard thing?”

 

“Oh no,” Ron said, grinning over a scowling Hermione's head. “That's a Harry-thing. You'll get use to it. Er, just...don't go getting any ideas about putting it to the test. We're all a bit protective of him,” he explained, giving his wife a pointed glance. “Some more then others.”

 

“He shot him!” Granger shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. “I don't care if he's bloody immortal! It's just not done.” She whipped out her wand. “Accio gun! Accio gun!” The Winchesters gun's flew out of there holsters, slapping into each of her hands. She emptied the bullets in each one and then turned the guns into a salt and pepper shaker, respectively. “No guns in the house! Even Draco knows that! Honestly, what if he had shot----”

 

“I'll just take her home,” Ron suggested, even as he led his ranting wife out of the room. “Night mate!”

 

“Night Ron!” Potter called out, dropping into the chair beside Gabriels. “Well, that was fun.”

 

“Dude,” Dean said, as Sam elbowed him hard in the ribs. “I am really sorry. It's kind of reflex. Shit appears out of nowhere, and I shoot it. It's a habit that’s done me good for a while.” Dean stared mournfully at the salt shaker, which now had the words Remmington etched into the glass.

  
  


“It took him many months to stop drawing his gun on me,” Castiel offered. “He's shot me no less than twelve times.”

 

“Ah, well,” Potter scratched his head, wiping a bit of blood from his nose. “Probably a good thing Herme's took your guns then. Quite a bit of popping in goes on at Grimuald, and we're not all starfish.”

 

“He means they don't all regenerate,” Sam added, for Deans benefit, who scowled in return.

 

Sam was still berating Dean for having shot Harry, after all he drew his gun and managed to look at what he was shooting before he pulled the trigger, ten minutes later. Gabriel and Potter looked upon them both with fond little grins, while surreptitiously trying to not look at Luna and Castiel. What had been amusing before was quickly working it's way to the angelic equivalent to a Tijuana floor show. Castiel was visually flustered, red in the cheeks and fidgeting, for fucks sake. If Luna hadn't had her hands where he could see them, he'd have thought she was giving him a hand job.

 

He supposed, given what he knew about himself and these frisky magical folk, hands really didn’t matter.

  


“So....you're hunters?” Dean asked him, as he was sorting through the post. “Capping bad guys and all that?”

 

Looking up from Remus's weekly letter, Harry shrugged. “I'm a bit fixated though. We deal mostly with Dementors. Now that they've taken to inhabiting Muggle...erm, non magical environments, it's more crucial that we wipe them out.”

 

“Because we can't see them,” Dean replied thoughtfully. He looked past Harry, eyes turning hard.  “You're...magical world...it's very lenient.”

 

“Lenient how?” He asked, curious. As far as he knew, the Magical world was rather out of touch and prudish.

 

“I walked in on the twin gingers.....”

 

“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, they do that.”

 

“And thats okay? I mean...they’re  brothers,” he said, with obvious inflection. “You know the old no-no taboo about incest.”

 

“Yes but...who are they hurting? Magical or not, men don't go knocking other men up. It's not conventional and not always well received, but here? At Grimuald? We know that they love each other. And besides, I die and come back, and they don't blink an eye. Who am I to judge them for their peculiarities.”

 

“It just seems wrong.”

 

“Yes,” he nodded, watching the way Dean Winchesters eyes flickered to the living room where Sam was in deep conversation with Hermione. “But there are worse things than loving someone so deeply that even a taboo like incest can't come between you. I can tell you whole halfheartedly that no one in this house will ever judge Fred and George, or anyone else, for it.”

 

Blinking, Dean turned back to him. “Sammy loves it here. “You're an alright bunch.”

 

Giving Dean one more long look, Harry fished around in his pocket for a bit, extracting a tiny door. “Take this,” he said, sliding it across the ground. “All you have to do is open it, and it will lead here. It only works once, but if...you ever need to escape, well. You'll always be welcome here.”

 

****

 

“Our friends are certainly playing nice,” Potter said to him, the next night. “Sam, Dean and Cas fit right in here.”

 

“They don't get to meet to many hunters who truly understand what they've been through,” he replied with a shrug, rolling onto his belly beside Potter in the bed. “Though Cas and Luna...that’s a bit out of left field.”

 

“She's been waiting for him for ever,” Potter commented. “Since she was very young. I asked her to marry me once.”

 

“But your gay!”

 

“Yes,” Potter laughed, and Gabriel did too. “And she did point that out. But she's a darling, and we've always been quite close. If my preferences hadn't ran toward the more penile side, and she hadn't shot me down with brutal bluntness, I'd have married her in a heart beat.”

 

“All the more reason to thank Castiel for existing, I guess,” he replied, surprisingly possessive. “Potter---”

 

“I know,” Potter grinned, nuzzling into his neck, hand sliding down Gabriels chest.

 

“This is all very strange for me,” Gabriel commented, letting himself melt into Potter's touch. “Very domestic. Very feely.”

 

With his hand coasting down Gabriels soft belly, fingers dancing across the waist of his pants, Potter nipped him in the shoulder. “Not feely enough---”

 

There was bang as the door swung open, Draco's pinched face appearing. “As much as I don't need to see this, the twins just unearthed a massive nest. They seem to think with your angel's help, we can draw them away from the Mardi-Gras festivities, and take them out.”

Making a spectacularly bitchy face, Potter hauled himself out of bed.

 

“Well, thats our cue,” he said with a sigh. “Think your friends would like to come? They can't see them, but they can help keep other muggles out of our way.” 

 

“Potter look out!”

 

Harry hissed, the cold feeling of doom encroaching upon them. They'd certainly found the nest, he realized, as Dementors poured out from the storm grates. The Winchesters shivered, eyes glazing over in despair as they sank to their knees in inexplicable tears. When word had come that they had a lead on a nest of Dementors, they took the opportunity to test their new Angel-Bait. It was nearing the heart of New Orleans biggest celebration, and there was no better time. They'd made a mistake though, miscalculated just how many they could draw with Gabriel and Castiel. It had all been a very massive mistake, and now they would all pay.

 

Gabriel, he could see him, cutting a path through the tear-struck crowed. “Gabriel don't!” He cried out, slashing out with the scythe. Dementors stumbled around him, crumpling before their brothers as they continued to rush forward.

 

There were too many, more than they'd ever handled. He slashed and hacked, and watched his friends fall, pale and frightened, trembling hands fighting back even as they fell into their own horror. He knew what they saw; they all had their own horrors after the war.

 

Draco would see his Lucius die, falling to the ground with a dull thump as Draco stood over him, covered in blood, wand hand aimed and trembling at the man he'd called father as he hexed the lifeless corpse, tears painting pink trails down his bloody cheeks.

 

Luna would feel her wrists split open at the sharp edge of a knife wielded by Bellatrix, the sounds of the woman cackling madly and smearing Luna's blood all down her Azkaban-weathered body in delight, while Luna slipped in puddles of her own trailing blood as she scrawled across the floor in escape.

 

Harry still saw his mother as she crumbled to the ground, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his crib. He would reach out to her, his chubby pale fingers tugging on her red curls as he cried, and Voldemort cursed him, blinding him with brilliant green light.

 

“Harry!” He heard Gabriel's voice as he clung to his scythe, swinging it feebly. He was surrounded, curtains of shredded,liquid black fabric like a sea of Lethinfolds blanking out the light as he crashed to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head. There were just to many, more than they ever expected...his friends...he had to save them...Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

  
  


 

The Reaper-spawn had swarmed them, creating a cloud of doom thick as molasses. He could feel it pouring down on him, all his misdeeds, all his mistakes, all the horrors he had seen and caused, but he pressed on, the tattered and torn edges of his thin-stretched grace flaring brightly inside of him, tingling up and down his spine. He knew, knew as deep as his rivers ran that this time he'd let them loose, six hundred and sixty-six wings made of ozone and sunshine and pure God-Given grace. It would tear him apart, he knew it would without a doubt. His body, at its ends already, would not survive.

 

But that didn't matter, the urgent need for survival that had always served him well, as he watched hundreds of Reapers close in on his hunters, his friends. They fell, one by one, stumbling in a flood of their own fears until all that stood was Harry.

 

And when Potter fell, nothing, not even himself, mattered any more.

 

His wings were like razors, tearing through time and space and skin. He could feel the blood between his shoulder blades pouring down his spine like a warm sticky river. Their weight was unfamiliar, to long ignored,and he staggered under the force of them as they stretched miles wide and tall.

 

The Reapers came at him, came at their Death, Death of Death, dusty boned fingers tugging at him, tearing at his hardened feathers. He was too much for them, to bright, to pure, burning them out one by one as they struggled to devour him first, fighting even with each other. They sank into him, feasting on the Light of God, his Grace or what remained. It was torn from him in frightening kiss, and he watched from above as his beloved body crumpled to the ground, too weak to hold on against the Dementors Kiss.

 

He'd been Reaped, harvested from his body, carved out and gutted like a fucking pumpkin and for what?

 

For Potter. For Harry.

 

Dying, going home, didn't seem so bad. It seemed worth it.

  
  
  


“What the fucking fuck was that?” Harry demanded, rounding on the Winchesters and their blue eyes angel. Both his lot and Gabriel's were far worse for ware, battered, bruised, and covered in blood and Dementor-guts. What few Dementors who hadn't died upon touching Gabriel had long since fled. They wouldn't come back here, Harry was sure of it. “What was that? Where did they take him? Who took him?”

 

Castiel swallowed, eyes wide as he stared at the charred, sulfur stained crater where Gabriel had once stood, wings out stretched, face torn in agony. Harry had already collected Gabriel's limp,pale body, pouring so much magic into it, he himself felt dizzy. But he could feel it, feel the lingering traces of what was left of Gabriel's grace slipping away and he knew, no matter what, he couldn't let that happen.

 

“I'm afraid we did not anticipate this possibility. When we prepared for the inevitability that our brothers would eventually come for him, signaled by his flaring grace. Surely the release of his wings would have been seen, I have no doubt. We knew...he knew that they would come. However....we expected them to come from...above.”

 

The Brothers Winchester’ paled in tandem, their matching eyes growing wide with horror. Dean spoke first, hand curled over his mouth. “Cas, you don’t mean----”

 

“No,” Sam breathed out, reaching out to clutch his brother, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, what happened to these people. “No, Castiel, no---”

 

**  
  
“So...those...people who took Gabe. They weren't Angels?”

 

“They weren't from Heaven,” Castiel replied gravely. “Those were minions of Lucifer; demons, real demons. They would have been drawn to the Reaper-Spawn, and could have easily hid among them. It is most likely perchance that they found Gabriel. Lucifer...will be pleased, with this turn of events”

 

Dean took that moment to cut in, face pale as he spoke. Harry didn't know the whole of Gabriel's story, but it seemed as if the Winchesters did. “Dude, if it weren't for Gabriel we never would have won. He...his help was pretty much the deciding factor.”

 

Closing his eyes, Harry spoke quietly, his fingers already twisting the ring he wore. “And where did they take him?”

 

It was Castiel who spoke, though the answer was known among the group without question. Luna had taken her place at his side, curling her pale, dirty hand in his. She whispered into his ear, and he nodded solemnly, honesty breaking his usually composed voice.

 

“There is only one place to take him; Hell.”

 

“Can you get him out, Cas?” Sam asked, earnest and wide eyed. He was pasty white, a sheen of sweat painting his skin. Harry couldn't help but wonder what he saw when the Dementors were near. “Like you did with Dean?”

 

Castiel wavered. “I...they weren't expecting me then. And I was given a way in. I have no way to enter the gates of Hell this time, nor would I be able to escape once there. Not only that, but they will be expecting it, as I have played that hand before. I am sorry.”

 

“I'll go,” Harry said quietly, tugging the ring “I can go. I can...I know a way.”

 

“I thought that thing went to Purgatory,” Dean said, watching Harry flip the ring into the air, and catching it neatly in his palm.

 

Harry shrugged. “Before I met Gabriel I didn't know where it went. But I knew...I know how to get in. The same way any other mortal goes....” He sighed, slipping the ring back on his finger. “Accio Dean Winchesters gun.”

 

“Hey!” Dean said, eyes going wide. “Come on...Potter, don't do this. There are other ways! There are always other ways.”

 

“We don't have the time. He...he did this for me,died for me. Who am I to not do the same?” Harry lifted the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple. “I have to get him back. Just...protect our bodies; Hermione will know what to do. Stasis charms, put us on ice, I don’t care. Please. We have to have something to come back to.”

 

Shoulders slumped in defeat, as if Harry's words had more meaning than he knew, the trio nodded in tandem. The brother stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder, the pain in there eyes too familiar, too knowing. “We can do that.”  He would ask them their story, Harry decided, when he returned.  

 

“Come home Harry,” Luna said, her voice bright, and her eyes pale. “We'll be waiting.”

 

***

 

It wasn't Heaven.

 

In all his years, it was Heaven that he feared. But in all those years he had never imagined he could end up here.

 

In Hell.

 

Lucifer, his angry red-headed step-child of a brother, stared at him from his cage, the illusion of his face pristine in a way it hadn't been when Gabriel lead him to his fall.

 

“How did I get here?” Gabriel asked, without looking at his brother. This wasn’t what he expected. For all that he’d been bad, he’d been good. He was sure of it. His father wouldn’t send him here. He wouldn’t. Which meant---

 

“Why the demons brought you, of course,” Lucifer replied lightly. “How fortuitous that they'd been spending so much time with those delightful creatures. Dementors have a way of leaving behind them a trail of deliciously empty hosts. It was purely coincidence, wonderful wonderful coincidence, that they should find you in the Reaper-spawns midst. Perhaps I am a lucky man after all.”

 

“Perhaps you need a breath mint.”

 

“Brother,” Lucifer said, grinning at him, white teeth catching the light of invisible hell fire. “So good of you to visit. I had no idea you wished to travel so far sough. The weathers great this time of year, isn't it?”

 

“It's a little dry,” he replied glibly, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt theatrically.

 

Lucifer shook his head, a smile so wide it split his face. “Gabriel, oh Gabriel. How dearly I hoped for this day. You might even say my prayers have been answered. ” He lifted his hands, clapping in a slow, mocking applaud. “Congratulations, brother mine. You betrayed the betrayer. You always were a tricky little bitch. How does it feel? ”

 

Gabriel licked his lips, lifting his eyes to stare at the cold cavernous ceiling. The walls were made of fire and flesh here, burnt and charred, pulsing sluggish pumps of dark red blood. It was like looking at someone from the inside, all twisting tendons and sticky meat. He looked back at his brother, and sighed. “I can’t say it leave me all warm inside. Outside, maybe. It feels like you’d think it would feel, brother mine. What do you want me to say? Sorry?”

 

“You do almost sound repentant,” Lucifer replied, amusement writ in his pretty features. He was wearing the face of Sam now; a flawless illusion to throw Gabriel of his game.

 

“Oh I don't regret it,” he retorted with honest ease. “I did what I had to do, like I always have. I wanted to stay out of it, but you kept pushing. You just kept pushing and pushing, and Father----”

 

“I wasn't the only one who pushed,” his brother replied mildly, one brow raised with cocky confidence. It looked good on Sam's face, if only because it was such a rare sight.

 

“Did I say as much?” Gabriel asked, with a shrug. “No, it wasn't just you. It was all of you bastards. Micheal and Raphael and fucking Zachariah, Luce! Zachariah, all up on his pretty perch pretending he mattered. The fucking brethren...they were willing to kill their brothers for Armageddon. And on whose orders? Gods? No. I know God. I know him, I have been his voice, and this? What happened? It was never God.”

 

“Father,” Lucifer spat, lashes fluttering around his narrow eyes. “Just another dead-beat dad. We're abandoned Gabriel. We and humankind alike. Abandoned!”

 

“No!” Gabriel roared with uncharacteristic rage.”No. He's still here. He's everywhere. But you? You and Michael and Raphael and the rest of them, you can't see it with your heads so far up your asses. I've lived in this world, where you all just watch. I know: I know that God is here, with these magnificent creatures, these messy magnificent fucked-up creatures. And if he doesn't want to be found, well I don't fucking blame him. He should be ashamed of you all.”

 

“Shame!?” Lucifer cried, reeling back. “You are by far the most shameful, gluttonous, greedy, lazy, prideful,lustful, vindictive wrathful creature I have ever met,and I dwell among demons.”

 

With his customary grin quirked, Gabriel never wavered. “But for my many, many, many sins, I never forgot my duties. I served our Father while serving myself. I acted as Judgment and punished those worthy justly. I stood by as the Voice of God, awaiting his word. I loved the world he created, every stinking, disgusting, messy bit of it; the lies, the deception, the sex, drugs, and pain. I loved it all, personally even. I did as he asked. I betrayed no one, not even myself. I lived as he bid me, and loved as he willed it. ”

 

Lucifer rushed forward, nothing but a line of holy fire between them, flickering up and sizzling against his skin as he grinned, malicious and cruel, down upon Gabriel. “Lived and died. Do you know what you'll be come here? A demon, Gabriel. See if daddy loves you then.”

 

“I've been a pagan God Luce, I'm way cooler then that,” Gabriel said, leaning casually against the flesh-wall. “I'm not just one of your minions. You can’t break me.”

 

“You'll give in,” Lucifer said with a cringe-worthy laugh. “With enough time, they all do.”

 

*****

 

Waking up dead, no matter how many times, would never be anything less then disconcerting. Harry peeled himself up off the ground of the familiar white room, casting his pool of dark congealed blood a passing second glance. Gingerly, he probed at the gaping wound in his head, open, warm, and streaming a thin line of blood even where he stood, soaking the neckline of his Henley.

 

“Suicide Clause,” a lilting voice said from behind him, and he turned to see the caustic face of Death, mouth pulled into a stern line. “You get to keep the wounds. I don't suppose you aren't staying, young Master I do so enjoy your company. Can’t say I have many...regulars. A few, but not many.”

 

“No,” Harry replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I need you to take me to Hell.”

 

Death blinked, but his expression never wavered. “What?”

 

“I need to get in and out of Hell,” Harry repeated. “They took my....my friend. I want him back.”

 

Death sighed, put upon and weary. “When at first we met I had wondered, no matter what you claimed, how long it would be until you demanded resurrection,” Death replied with a tired sigh. “That you lasted this long.....”

 

“It isn't resurrection,” Harry said in a rush. “Gabriel, he's....an Angel. My Angel. Er...I mean I'm his Vessel. But mostly he's....he's my friend.”

 

“You speak of the Archangel Gabriel?” Death asked, both brows raised. “My my my, Master Potter, you don't do things by halves, do you? You realize it won't be easy, yes? It is not a matter of simply walking in and out of Hell. That happened once before, you know, with a mortal. An Angel just swooped right in and plucked him out. Security will have risen since.”

 

“I have the Hallows to help,” Harry said in reply, fingers immediately tracing the cool silver band on his finger. “And Gabriel's scythe.”

 

“The cloak might hide you, but being seen or unseen will not be your only problem.” Death countered.

 

“I can't die.”

 

“There are far more worse things then dying Harry Potter,” Death said, offering his hand.

 

Harry took it, and said nothing.

 

The scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils, burning his throat as he breathed. He could smell the pain in the air, fingers clenching absently where he gripped Deaths arm.

 

“Welcome to Hell, Potter,” Death said, with a certain amount of unwelcome smugness. “This is as far as

 

I will go. Return here, and I shall take you home. Remember this though, there is no sin here, no mercy. It is in you to be kind, to be forgiving, but there is no forgiveness here, only pain and punishment. Time runs differently,” he explained, shoving a watch into Harry's hand. He looked at its face, as they ran too fast from number to number. “That will tell you how much time has passed. For every ten years that passes in Hell, the

 

Earth will have only aged a month. Remember that. The longer you stay, the more it changes you.”

 

“Changes me?” Harry asked, disconcerted. They'd been here only two minutes, and already he wondered how much time had passed at Grimwauld.

 

“You have touched the Dark too often already, Harry. You wield a dangerous power,” he said softly.

 

“I never wished to control you--”

 

“And this I know,” Death cut him off with a sad smile. “You are far better a Master then I've ever had. And for that I am great full. But still, your power is great and terrible, and it changes you.”

 

“The horns,” Harry realized, touching his fingertips to the sharpened points protruding from his head.

 

“Every time I use the ring....”

 

“They are a personification of the darkness you delve in,” Death surmised. “You are dark, Master. You cannot have seen what you have, have touched such darkness and left unstained. But you are also good. But Hell? Hell will change you, if you let it. It will steal who you are. You must be ruthless here. The only thing that can save you is your focus. Your goal. What really brings you to Hell? What is Gabriel's worth that he has you standing at the gaping mouth of hell, ready to tackle it's darkest of armies?”

 

Harry swallowed, eyes turning back to the cave. “Love,” he said with the same sort of finality he felt when killing Voldemort. “Love brings me here.”

 

“Hold tight to that.” With his same sad smile, Death nodded once. “ I wish you the best of luck, kind Master Harry. Return to the mouth of the cave with Gabriel, and I shall take you home.”

 

And with that, he was gone, leaving Harry there alone. Death had spoken of armies, Harry thought, steeling himself for war. He freed his cloak from it's stash the bottomless pocket of his leather jacket, swinging it over his shoulder. In the light of hell, it did not look as silvery as it once had, but dripping, inky black, as it settled over his shoulder. The weight of it was familiar, unlike that of the Elder Wand in his hand. He slid the pale wand into his hip holster, wondering if he'd even remember to use it. Summoning Gabriel's Scythe into his hand, he

entered Hell, head high, and heart hammering.

 

The walls withered around him, built with bricks made of undulating, naked, battered bodies, the faces of sinners twisted in agony. The walls were made of people, Harry thought and cringed, and the ground was thick with torn flesh, ash, and blood.

 

Screams rent the red-flickering darkness. The only light offered to illuminate the way were errant lines of blazing hell fire, burning paths through the skin of the damned where it may. He made no eye contact, pushing onward past the pleading, begging mouths as they cried out to him.

 

Deaths watch was warm in his pocket, ticking to fast against his thigh. The path never seemed to end, the darkness only getting darker, though it never became difficult to see.

 

He came across his first demons an hour into the cave, how long that was Top-Side, Harry couldn't think to ask. They were Demons, for sure, though he'd never had the delight of meeting them. Their eyes were glossy black, reminding him of Snape, cruel smiles curling their lips reminiscent of his old professor.

 

Guards, he thought, standing outside a round arch way. The first circle of Hell, he realized. His knowledge of Muggle religious inner workings was minimal, but he'd heard of the seven circles.

 

He had no doubt where Gabriel would be; lucky number seven.

 

For all that they oozed evil, they looked like people. He had left his body behind, but wore the same facade here. Was it the same for these demons? Was the skin they wore in hell real; did they wear the flesh of innocent muggles here? It didn't matter, he told himself. It couldn't matter. For all that they couldn't see him, he couldn't pass without revealing himself.

 

They had to die.

 

Whipping his cloak over his shoulders, letting it flutter and reveal him, he summon his Scythe, swinging it without a blink. The demons stood no chance to his uncharacteristic ruthlessness as he sliced through their stomachs, severing their tops from their bottoms. They exploded, expression twisted and aghast as they burst into ash, quickly consumed by the hellfire.

 

He cut a path through all that came across him, his heart palpitating at the sight of hells victims, strung up by the skin, tortured and bleeding. The demons laughed as he came at them, scythe swinging, and eyes bright. They laughed, even as they fell, one by one by one, till the fire of hell burned black with the ash of its children.

 

Death had promised him an army of Demons, and he had not lied.

 

He was battered by the time he reached the seventh archway in hell. His hair was singed, and a chunk of his left eye was missing, leaving a gaping, clawed-out wound that continued to bleed freely, leaving a wake of red pouring down his face and neck and chest. His cloak fluttered from his shoulder, casting odd shadows across the flesh-walls where it obscured his body invisible.

 

His shirt was gone, for the most part, tattered cotton-blend shreds hanging from his shoulder, the white of it stained aubergine by blood and ash. His chest was bare, torn open to reveal an empty cavity where his lung had once resided. There were things in Hell far worse than demons, so he had learned, as the creatures of the dark descended upon him.

 

He killed all that challenged him with deft precision, mechanical in his rage, in his own fire. He had waged his war upon the army of the dark. He'd cut down demons, and monsters, and beasts alike. He waded a path through a sea of serpents, hissing out to them as they slithered up his body, wrapping him like limp rope. Bloody-crusted skulls crunched beneath his feet, but pressed on, the cold of the darkness struggling to drown him.

 

He was here for Gabriel, he reminded himself.

 

His Gabriel.

 

Harry never faltered, as the days passed, for all that he was broken and in agony. The seventh circle of hell was dressed in blood and guts, and he could feel the dark ache slithering across him like slime. His horns ached, worse than his scar ever had, bleeding freely into his eyes, or rather his eye, and gaping eye socket.

 

Standing outside of Hell’s heart, he felt something drop beside him, hitting the skin-soft floor with a splat. Crouching, Harry picked up his finger, Deaths Ring still circling it, and shoved it into his pocket. Deaths watch weighed heavy in his pocket, but he had no heart to look at it. It couldn't tell him what he wanted to know for he'd been here far longer than he ever imagined.

 

One week topside

 

Four months in hell.

 

Gabriel was waiting, whether he knew it or not. Harry wasted no more time. He could hear them already, those last snarling beasts of the dark.

****

 

“Can you feel him, Gabriel?” Lucifer asked, with malicious glee. “Storming the castle for you, the damsel in distress.”

 

“Well, I do look good in a dress,” Gabriel teased, though the edge in his voice was audible. He knew it was Potter; he'd felt his vessel as soon as Harry had stepped into Hell. It wasn't comforting; cold fear filled him, sending him to his knees. Harry couldn't be in hell, he just couldn't.

 

“Ah yes, your beloved,” Lucifer sneered. “A mortal, Gabriel? I thought you were better than that. And your own vessel, of all things. Talk about self-service. You know, I always did wonder how you circumvented the clause. The face your wearing is certainly very well made, if not a little dated.”

 

Brushing a weak hand over his own shoulder, he replied glibly. “This old thing? I just threw it on. I've always been a fan of business casual. I think it goes from day-wear to night-wear nicely though.”

 

“I certainly hope you're not banking on a rescue, brother,” Lucifer responded mildly.

 

“Nah,” he said shamelessly, waving his brother off. “This is probably about that twenty-bucks I owe him.”

 

Lucifer rushed forward again, dropping to a crouch before Gabriel, unable to touch him through the flame. “Laugh, Gabriel. Laugh and laugh and laugh till you choke on it. No mortal can save you, no mere mortal can survive down long enough to even find you.”

 

“Then its right and bloody good I'm no mortal,” Potters voice rang out against his ear drums, rough as gravel. It was the possibly most beautiful thing he had ever heard, more beautiful than the Heavenly Choir, than Gods own voice.

 

Lifting his head, Gabriel felt himself go cold. His Vessel was destroyed, burnt and beaten and...missing pieces. “Potter....” He couldn't believe his eyes; this couldn't be his Vessel. This had to be an illusion, one of Lucifer’s tricks. He'd done as much to Sam, as Gabriel could recall.

 

Spitting out a laugh, Potter came to him, trailing a river of dark blood behind. He fell to his knees, pulling

 

Gabriel up into his arms, real and solid against him. “I really hope you didn't like me for my pretty face.”

 

His face was wet against Potters cheek; he was crying. He was surprised he could cry. “You're really here. Why are you here? You can't be here.”

 

“Seven circles of hell, and this is the thanks I get?” Potter said, and his laugh was followed by the wet sounding splat of his intestines falling out of his stomach. “Er. Vastly attractive, that is.”

 

“This is your savior?” Lucifer asked, but he went largely unacknowledged. “He's falling apart, Gabriel! There is no way he'll make it back out, and with you in tow. He'll be eaten aliv---”

 

“Silencio!”

 

Gabriel stared down the length of Potters arm, where a pale wand was pointed at his brother. “You just...silenced Lucifer. You don't just silence the fucking devil!” He said with a snort, dropping his head onto Potters shoulder.

 

“I suspect it's the wand,” Potter replied, pocketing said boom-stick. “Packs a bit of an extra punch.” He turned his face back to Gabriel's, mouth into a sharp, slightly torn smile. “He might be right through. I....I won't die, but I am beginning to suspect that Death was right. There are much things worse than Death. I can't go back to my body like this. Magic can do a lot but...I think a Hell-hound ate my heart.”

 

“You have blood on your mouth,” Gabriel said, in way of reply. It was old blood, half dried and dark and Gabriel wanted like he never had before.

 

“Do I?” Potter asked, raising a singed brow. “Convenient that,” he murmured.

 

Murmured and kissed him.

 

The kiss tasted like blood, sharp and metallic, but it felt like sunshine and love and chocolate and sex and all kinds of wonderful fucking human, mortal things. It exploded inside of him as he wrapped his arms around Potters waist, both hands burning into the small of his back as he gripped them tight and raised them both from perdition, high on Harry Potters freely given blood.

 

He met Azreal at the mouth of the cave, much to his surprise. “Ah, Little Master,” Death said mournfully.

 

“Immortal does not always mean invincible.”

 

“He's immortal?” Gabriel asked, wide eyed in surprise.

 

“He won't die until he gives me permission,” Azreal replied, smoothing a pale hand over Potters forehead. It smeared a trail in the blood crusting against his face. “All in all, I have had far worse Masters than Harry Potter. You will fix him, won't you?”

 

“Yes,” he said confidently, holding Potter more tightly to him. “He fixed me, and I'll fix him. Then I'll kick his ass for every coming here, even if it was for me.”

 

“Did he do it for you?” Azreal asked mildly. “Funny that. He told me he did it for love. Bit of a soppy bugger.” Azreal slammed them back into their bodies with no warning, leaving them both gasping and heaving on Potters bed at Grimauld, pale blue eyes staring down at them, framed in curtains of soft blonde hair.

 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Luna said, as if he'd only taken an afternoon nap.

 

“Uuuuugh,” Potter groaned beside him. “Oh God.”

 

“Gabriel, actually,” he said dryly, peering over his shoulder at the groaning but pristine form of Harry Potter.

 

“Yeah well, that would explain why it feels like my spleen is lodged in my left kidney. Did you just get slap happy with the angel glue?”

 

“Hey!” Gabriel protested. “At least I got your eyeballs right. Imagine if I put it in backwards or something.”

 

Potters hand came up, swiping down his forehead. His palms scrapped across the sharp horns, cutting shallowly into his skin.

 

Looking away at Potters wince, Gabriel frowned. “Those I couldn't get rid of. I...tried. But they're permanent. Sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” Potter said, pulling himself up to sit beside Gabriel. “What are a pair of horns when I have you? God...I didn't think...when I got there, I wasn't sure....you brought us back, yeah?”

 

“Because you fixed me,” Gabriel confirmed. “Took you long enough, jack ass. I was down there for four months.”

 

“Four months!”

 

“Really?” Luna cut in, blinking. “We've only had you under the preservation charms for seven days.”

 

Something thunked on the stairs, a herd of feet thundering against the floor boards. The door burst open, a flood of people washing in. “You're awake!” Granger cried, her brown eyes bright.

 

“We noticed,” Potter said dryly, curling his hand into Gabriels. “Honestly, I'm disgusted you doubted me.”

 

“You've been out dead for a week, mate,” one of the twins said.

 

“We had to spell the door shut with all kinds of wards,” the red headed Weasley girl said. “Fred and George using your bodies as test---”

 

“We did no such thing,” Twin one said, followed closely by Twin Two. “Seriously, Ginny, you're lies and slander are reprehensible. I'll have you know we were only checking to see if Harry was really hu---”

 

“Alright, alright,” Ron waved them off. “It's good to see you up and about mate. Honestly, how many times can a bloke see his best mate die? You'll give me gray hairs, you will.”

 

Dean and Sam stepped forward, standing about as close as the twins did, which said a lot about the questionableness of their relationship. “A week topside,” Dean said, giving Harry a grave look. “You're a tough little dude. I guess you'd have to be. Never figured Gabriel's skin-suit would be a wimp anyway. But uh...I don't know. You're lot seems okay.”

 

“We helped hunt down the rest of the Reapers while you guys were....out,” Sam explained. “You're friends are great hunters. Taught us a thing or two.”

 

“Hey! We taught them stuff too!”

 

“Yeah, but I doubt they really have a need to pick-pocket a stranger,” Sam countered, with a grin. “Castiel taught Luna how to sweat in Enotian.”

 

“And Luna taught Castiel how to ----” Twin One began, but the Girl Ginger smacked him.

 

“No one wants to know what Luna taught Castiel,” she said with an eye-roll and grin.

 

Castiel piped up, a small smile of his own tilting his lips in the strangest of ways. Gabriel decided it looked good on him. “I don't know,” Castiel said, his tone still lacking the expected inflection. “I found her lessons quite...informative.”

 

“Yes well, that may be well and grand but sit through a lecture on crumple-horned-nargle hybrids and you'll be singing a different tune,” Granger cut in.

 

“So you've decided to keep the horns, then?” Draco asked, leaned against the bed post, and gave both he and Potter a sulking pout. “I don't appreciate you leaving me alone with this lot, Potter. A bloody week! And Granger is nesting. Do you know she insisted on folding my bloody socks! Please refrain from taking any more impromptu vacations, if you could,” he sniffed, tossing Potter a little smirk.

 

“Vacations! I destroyed an army of demons! I lost my bloody eyeball, you ars--”

 

Ron grinned as the crowed continued to bicker around him, cutting Potter off with a gentle cuff to the head. “We missed you mate, but we knew you'd be back. Can't get rid of Harry Potter, now can we? The

 

Winchesters taught Hermione how to hustle at pool, and the Twins loaded the Winchesters up on Wheezes. “Good blokes, the three of them, fit right in, they do. Though you might want to know.” He gave Potter a not-so-sutble wink, and let himself sink back into the crowed.

 

“Awe,” Gabriel cooed, curling himself into Potter. “Look how well they play together.”

 

Granger kicked in the shin, while Luna was stealthily sinking her hand into the back of Castiels pants.

 

“Reckon we should set up play-dates or something,” Potter agreed. “Take em' out for ice-cream, a nice walk in the park.”

 

Draco was narrowing his eyes at Sam, giving him a once over. Sam in turn did his best to tower over the shorter blonde. “With leashes,” Gabriel added. “And maybe tazers.”

 

“We could spray them in the face with water when they're naughty,” Potter suggested. “Or maybe do some kind of rewards system for good behavior? I mean...whatever Luna is doing to Castiel right now has to be good behavior.”

 

“We'll just have to take our time and see what works,” Gabriel said, turning to face Potter. “Could take a while.”

 

Potter grinned. Lucky for you, I've got a while." 

-END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that. I don't know if it's any better than when I posted it years ago, but at least grammatically it's cleaner? Also, I know what a homophone is now! Woo! Leaning new things every day.

**Author's Note:**

> I ran into a whole thread bashing this story, and was like 'wow, ouch'. I did write it a while back, but I didn't think it was THAT bad. I know that LJ initially ate like, random paragraphs and words when I posted it over there. A whole chapter, too I think. I don't know. I've done a bit of work on it, hopefully it's better this time around?
> 
> I took out the word 'tranny' because it was offensive. While it's not a word I would use in my daily vocabulary because I actually do find it offensive, I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility for Sam or Dean to use it. But, I try not to perpetuate butthurt on the internet.


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